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HUBERT’S WIFE : 




^ 3a70I\~S‘, 'S’OXJ- 


BY 


MINNIE MARY 



M 


LEE. 



“There is a way which seemeth just to a man, but the end 
thereof leadelh unto death.”— Pror, xlv, 12. 


BALTIMORE : 



KELLY, PIET & CO., PUBLISHEKS, 


174 West Baltimore street. 


1875. 




'■ /f .. 
i: 


Entered, according to an act of Congress, in the year 1875, by 
KELLY, PIET & COMPANY, 

in the oflice of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D, C. 



I. A Black Conference 1 

II. The Master uf Kennons 7 

III. An Interruption to Duncan’s Eeverie II 

lY. Philip St. Leger 19 

Y. The Missionary’s Retrospect 30 

YI. Missionary Life 37 

YII. The Distinguished Traveler’s Yiews 45 

YIII. The Yisitation by Spirit and by Death 52 

IX. The Xew Choice CO 

X. “A Dream which was not all a Dream ” 71 

XI. Althea’s Guardians 77 

XII. The Christening 88 

XIII. Kew Mistress at Kennons 97 

% 

XI Y. China — Uncle Mat’s Prayer Meeting 109 

XY. Kizzie 118 

XYI. Time and Change 12G 

XYII. The St. Legers 135 

XYIII. St. Mark’s or St. Patrick’s? 145 

XIX. “ In such an hour as ye think not ” 154 

XX. Juliet 1G4 

XXL The Spider and the Ply ” 172 


IV 


CONTENTS. 


XXII. Althea — Death of Little Johnny... 181 

XXIII. Hubert Lisle at Tine Cottage 193 

XXI Y. Jealousy 201 

XXV. The Awakening 208 

XXYI. Light after Darkness 213 

XXYII. The Convert’s Trials ........221 

XXVIII. Mysterious Disappearance 231 

XXIX, Hubert’s Second Visit 235 

XXX. “ And the Sea shall give up its Dead ” 240 

XXXL Conclusion ...243 



CHAPTER 1. 

A BLACK CONFERENCE. 

T was the night after the funeral. Elllee 
Lisle, the loving wife, devoted mother, kind 
mistress, and generous friend, had been laid 
' away to rest ; over her pulseless bosom had 
been thrown the red earth of her adopted Virginia, and, 
mingled with its mocking freshness, was the bitter rain 
of tears from the eyes of all who had known the lowly 
sleeper. Even Nature joined the general weeping; 
for, though the early morning had been bright and 
beautiful, ere the mourners^ feet had left the new- 
made grave, the skies had lowered, and a gentle rain 
descended. 

You have 2 )ity upon me, O Heaven, and you weep 
for me, O earth, had exclaimed Duncan Stuart Lisle, 
as, leading his little Hubert by the hand, he turned 
away from his lost Ellice. 

As night deepened, the rain increased, and the dark*^ 
ness became intense. The house-servants, timid and 
superstitious, had all congregated in Aunt Amy’s cabin. 
Amidst their grief, sincere and profound, was yet a sub- 
ject of indignation, which acted as a sort of safety-valve 
to their over-much sorrowing. 

A nice, pretty piece of impudence it was, to be sure^ 





2 


Hubert’s wife. 


when she hadn’t been in the house for five year, to 
’trude herself the minute Miss Ellice’s breath had left 
her precious body, the poor dear ! ” ejaculated Chloe, 
the cook, who was intensely black, and fat to immensity. 

Much as ever Massa Duncan ’peared to notice her, 
not’standing she make herself so ’ficious,” said Amy, 
who looked more the Indian than African. 

He never set eyes on her but once,” said young 
China, the favorite housemaid, whose dialect and man- 
ners were superior to those of the other servants, only 
just once, and that was when she looked at him so long 
and fierce-like he couldn’t actually keep his eyes down.” 

I see it my own self,” added Chloe, whose small 
orbs were almost burled beneath overhanging cliff’s of 
brow and uprising mountains of cheek, ^^and I’ll tell 
you what I tinks : I tinks just den and dere, dat if 
we’s meet de ole one hisself ho wouldn’t hab no eyes, 
cause Misses Rusha Rush jes done gone an’ stole ’em.” 

This dark reference caused a closer grouping of the 
sable dames and damsels. Trembling hands drew small 
plaid shawls closer about the shoulders, while one bolder 
than the rest cast a huge pine-knot upon the glowing 
coals. 

Amy was first to break the brief silence. 

Mighty pity Jude Rush ever fell off ^ Big Thunder- 
bolt’ and broke his slim nock! But Massa Duncan 
knew nuf once to let Miss Rusha ’lone ; he’s not gwine 
to be ’veigled by none o’ her hilofical airs — you may 
’pend on dat; ’specially when he’s had dat sweet saint 
all to hisself now dese so many year — no, neber.” 

And Amjr reiterated this over and over, as if to kill 


HUBERT'S WIFE. 


3 


the secret tliouglit which haunted lier against her will. 

She persume to come here and order you dis way 
an’ I dat way, an’ all us all ’round ebry which way — 
00 — but I gived her a piece o’ my mind,” spake Mar- 
gery, the weaver, very irate. 

^^Umph! I never seed ye speak to her,” said Arny, 
doubtingly. 

Not wid my tongue, mind ye. I knows better den 
dat. But I jes spit fire at lier out of ray eyes.” 

Fire neber burn Miss Busha ; she too ugly for dat. 
S’pose fire burn de ole Nick ? Den he be done dead 
and gone, which ain’t so; derefore nuthin’ ever fall 
Miss Rusha ; she never sick, nor die, nor drown, nor 
burn up. Miss Ellice she sick, she die, ’cause she be 
an angel ; she go home to glory ; but Miss Rusha she 
live, jes to trouble white folks, jes to torment niggers.” 

Wrathful Amy, as she said this, glanced triumph- 
antly at Margery, Avho was about to speak, when Chloe 
took the floor, figuratively. 

^^Tank de Lord, we ain’t de niggers what she’s got 
to torment ; and she needn’t be setting her cap for our 
own good Massa Duncan ; she may jes hang up high 
her fiddle on de willows o’ Bab’lon ; she sit down an’ 
weep on de streams ; she neber hab good Massa Dun- 
can ; neber while de trees on Kennons grow and de stars 
’bove Kennons shine.” 

Kennons was the name of the Lisle plantation* 

She’d like to jlne the two plantations. One is too 
little for her to rule. She’s alius wanted our south 
’bacco patch. Her hundred niggers and Massa’s hun- 
. dred would make a crew. O, she’s a shrewd one ; she 


4 


iiubeet’s wife. 


sees further than her nose. She’d make my shettle fly 
fast as Aunt Kizzie’s.” 

Somebody ought to make your shuttle fly faster 
than is its habit, Margery/^ returned China, usually 
quiet and gentle. But what if you are all mistaken, 
and Mistress Rush has no idea of making a rush upon 
Kennons and our good master.’’ 

you poor innocent,” quoth Chloe and Am.y at 
the same time. Haven’t we eyes? What’s they for 
if not to see with? They ain’t in the backs of our 
heads neither. We’ve got ears too ; we don’t hear with 
our elbows. What for did she bring nice things and 
pretties for Hubert ? and what for did she take such a 
wonderful interest in de poor baby ? Bress us, is de 
baby wake or sleep, or what is come of it? We’s all 
forgettin’ de dear precious objec. Sakes alive, an’ its 
nearly smuddered in its soft blankets, worked so beau’- 
fully wid its own moder’s hand.” 

A sleeping-powder, administered to the three days’ 
old infant had, for a time, quieted its incessant cries. 
This sudden mention brought every dark face to bend 
low over the cradle, which Bessie, the nurse, had 
brought hither from the house, that she might share the 
gossip of her companions. 

Worn out with weeping and watching, Bessie lay 
prone and sleeping upon the floor at the cradle’s side* 
‘Satisfied that the baby still breathed, Chloe, Amy, 
Margery, China and Dinah settled back Into their 
seats, like so many crows upon a branch. 

Dinah, the last-named, had been thus far fast asleep ; 
and provoked with herself that she had lost a share of 


Hubert’s wife. 


5 


the gossip, she gave Bessie a vigorous push with her 
foot as she passed her, not through charity, nor yet 
through malice, but through a sudden spasm of ill- 
nature. 

Bessie gave a groan and sat up. She gazed around 
wildly — slowly comprehended the scene, tire present, 
the past, and, with another groan, flung herself upon 
the floor again. 

You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Dinah, to 
disturb Bessie in that way,” said China, between whom 
and Bessie was a warm friendship. She has cried so, 
and broken her heart.” 

She needn’t be in people’s way, then — who’s going 
’round Eobinhood’s barn for sake o’ likes o’ her?” 
said Dinah, complainingly. 

^^Shut your mouth, black Dinah,” cried Amy 
authoritatively. Ye’s a pretty one to knock around a 
Bleepin’ nigger. You’s been asleep yourself the last 
hour. S’pose we’d all been like you — you’d been 
kicked into a heap — but we ain’t— and you never did 
have a drop o’ human kindness.” 

O, go ’way wid your quarreling. Dinah is jis like 
a firebran’ ; let her ’lone. What she got to do wid dis 
subjec-matter in han’, I like a-know ? ” queried Aunt 
Chloe, swaying up to the mantle, filling her pipe with 
tobacco, and adding thereto the smallest glowing coal 
upon the hearth. Meantime, while she is preparing 
for a smoke, her companions have taken from their 
pockets, each a tin snuff-box and a mop, which mop 
consists of a small twig, chewed at the end into threads 
or fibers. This mop, wet with saliva, is thrust into the 
1 * 


6 


HUBERT^S WIFE. 


box of Scotch snuff, thence thrust into the mouth, and 
worked around upon the teeth much to the delight and 
constant spitting of the performer. This operation, so 
prevalent both among white and black women of the 
South, is called dipping 

Having followed our sable friends from grief to 
indignation, and from indignation to the charming 
amusement of snuff-dipping, we will enter the house 
and make acquaintance with its master. 




CHAPTER II. 

THE master’s conference WITH HIMSELF. 

T was ]ate in September, and chilly for the 
season. A bright fire glowed upon the 
hearth in the lady’s chamber” at Ken- 
iions. Red curtains shaded the windows, 
and drooped in folds to the floor. Roses and green 
leaves seemed springing up out of the carpet to meet 
the light and warmth that radiated from the small semi- 
circle behind the glittering fender. A bed hung with 
white curtains, a dressing bureau, with its fancy pin- 
cushion, and numerous cut-glass bottles of perfu- 
mery, a lounge covered with bright patchwork, and 
furnished with log-cabin cushions, easy-chairs and otto- 
mans, together with the workstand and its inseparable 
little basket filled with every indispensable for needle- 
work — all, all bore the trace of woman’s hand. 

For nine years this had been the loved family-room 
of Duncan and Ellice Lisle. 

Now, Ellice was forever gone. Her foot had passed 
the threshold, to come in, to go out, no more. Her 
canary hung in the window ; how could he sing on the 
morrow, missing her accustomed voice? Her picture 
hung over the mantle, looking down with the old-time 






8 


HUBERT^'S WIFE. 


brightness upon the the solitary figures beforefire — 
Duncan and his child. 

Hubert, the son, in his eighth year, sitting clasped 
in his father’s arms, had pierced anew that tortured 
heart by asking questions about his mother and the 
mystery of death, which no human mind can answer. 
The child was in a vortex of wonder, grief and specu- 
lation. It was the first great lesson of his life, and he 
would learn it well, the more that it was so severe and 
incomprehensible. But sleep and fatigue overcame 
Hubert at length. The light from the fire no more 
danced with his shifting curls, but settled down in a 
steady golden glow over the mass that mingled its yd- 
low-brown with the black beard of the stricken man. 
For the father would not lay away his sleeping child. 
He held him close, as the something, the all that was 
left to him of his lost love. His head drooped lew 
and his lips rested in a long embrace of the child’s sa ft 
wealth of hair. 

Mayhap some watching spirit took pity upon the 
man bereaved ; for while he gazed into the fire, the 
heavy pressure of the present yielded to a half-conscious 
memory of the past, and a dream-like reverie bright- 
ened and darkened, flickered and burned in and out 
with the red of the flame, and the white of the ashes. 

Duncan Lisle was a boy again. With two little 
brothers and a half-dozen black child-retainers, he 
hunted in the woods of Kennons, sailed boats on the 
red waters of the Eoanoke, rode break-neck races over 
the old fields, despising fences high, and ditches deep, 
and vigorously sought specimens of uncouth, out-of- 


Hubert’s wife. 


9 


tlie-way beast, bird and insect. He studied mathemat- 
ics and classics, played pranks upon one tutor, and did 
loving reverence to another. He planted flowers upon 
his own mother’s grave, and filled the vases of his step- 
mother with her own favorite lilacs and roses. He 
made houses, carriages, swings, setts of furniture, and 
all sorts of constructions for his half-sister Della, who 
was his junior by ten years at least. 

He edified, not to say terrified, the dusky crowd of 
juveniles with jack-o’-lanterns, impromptu giants and 
brigands, false faces, fire crackers, ventriloquism and 
sleight-of-hand performances. 

With a decided propensity for fun and mischief, there 
was also in his disposition as evident a proclivity to 
seriousness and earnestness. If it gave him delight to 
play off upon a stranger the joke of bagging the 
game,” he enjoyed Avith equal ardor the correct render- 
ing of a difficult translation, or the solution of an intri- 
cate problem. 

If sometimes he annoyed with his untimely jest, he 
always won by his manly openness and uniform kind- 
liness of nature. He cherished love for all that was 
around him, both animate and lifeless. Soul and Nature 
therefore rendered back to him their meed of harmoni- 
ous sympathy. 

Duncan Avas scarcely seventeen Avhen the Plague 
swept over Kennons. That mysterious blight, rising 
in the orient, traveling darkly and surely unto the 
remotest West, laid its blackened hand upon the fair 
House of Kennons. 

Cholera ! fearful by name and by nature, it Avas not 


10 


WIFE. 


SO strange that thy skeleton fingers should clutch at the 
myriad-headed city, situate by river and by sea, but 
thou wert Insatiable ! Proud dwellings and lowly cots 
in green fields and midst waving woods thou didst not 
spare ; for thy victim, the human form, was there. 

In the middle of August, the skies shone over Ken- 
nons happy and fair. Some cousins came down from 
the city seeking safety — bringing, alas, suffering and 
death ! 

In one little month, how fearful a change ! 

Duncan Lisle, sitting before the fire on this sad rainy 
evening, after the lapse of twenty years, shudders as 
he recalls the blackened pall that seemed spread over 
earth and air. 

Strange to say, the disease prevailed least amongst 
the frightened servants. 

The hundred were perhaps decimated. 

In the house only Duncan and his half-sister Della 
survived; they in fact escaped the contagion. The 
father, a strong, healthy man, struggled bravely with 
the fierce attack ; he even rallied, until there was good 
hope of his recovery. But a sudden relapse bore him 
swiftly beyond mortal remedy. Duncan, in his reverie, 
closes his eyes, to shut out the fearful memory. He 
glides over his college years and his sister’s course at 
school. He sees Jerusha Thornton in her youth and 
pride and beauty. She waves off the many suitors in 
her train, only to smile winsoinely at the young master 
of Kennons. Her estate is equal to, and adjoins his 
own. He has known her from her childhood — he loves 
no other — and still he loves not her. He revolves the 


IIUBERT^S WIFE. 


11 


reason of this in his own mind. She has beauty, 
wealth, accomplishments. He giv^es no credence to 
rumors of her cruelty to servants, though aware of her 
haughtiness to all, and her disdain to inferiors. The 
high favor which she showed to him would be welcomed 
with joy by at least a half-dozen of his acquaintance. 
But this, her manifest preference,- did not please Dun- 
can Lisle — there might be no accounting for it, but it 
was a fact. 

What was to be done? Kennons needed sadly a 
woman at its head. Its master had come to be nearly 
twenty-eight, and not married yet ! 

The servants were in a state of terrified suspense, 
lest he should bring Miss Busha as their mistress. 
They wished their master to marry — they would dance 
for joy — but it must be some other young lady than 
the heiress of Thornton Hall. 

Della had been to a Northern school nearly five years ; 
she would soon be eighteen, and was about to graduate. 

As very young girls, Della and Rusha had known 
each other. For many years, however, having been at 
different schools they had rarely met. 

Duncan held a faint impression that his half-sister 
had never been at all partial to this near neighbor of 
his. She was coming home so soon, ho had such confi- 
dence in her judgment and womanly intuitions, he 
would await her coming, and see if she could divine 
why it was that while he would be attracted to Rusha 
Thornton he could not. 

Besides, Della was not returning home alone. Ellice 
Linwood had been for five years her most intimate 


12 


Hubert’s wife. 


chosen friend, and room-mate. Ellice was the only 
child of a Avidowed Presbyterian clergyman. Her 
father had spent all he had to bestow upon her, in her 
education. This being thorough and complete, in the 
way such terms are used, she was henceforth to support 
herself by teaching. 

In order to avoid a deplorable separation, these two 
young friends had put their wits together, and lo, the 
result ! Through Della’s good brother Duncan, a situ- 
ation had been secured for Ellice in the family of Col. 
Anderson, not over six miles from Kennons. They 
would speedily become excellent equestrians, these 
friends, and annihilate the narrow space every day in 
the year. 




CHAPTER III. 



AK INTERRUPTION TO DUNCAN^S REVERIE. 

jjUXCAN LISLE, still gazing vacantly into 
the varying flames, performed anew the 
journey, not from Kennons to ^Troy on the 
Hudson, but from the latter city, via New 
York, back to his Virginian plantation. His sister 
and Ellice Linwood were his companions, for it had 
been arranged that, though Ellice^s session of school 
was not to commence for a couple of months, yet she 
should thus early undertake the journey for sake of the 
company; and Delians home was to be hers also in 
the intervening time. 

Della and Ellice I They flitted hither and thither 
before Duncan^s mental vision, as they had on that 
memorable journey. Just free from the irksome 
restraints of the school-room, full of joyous anticipa- 
tions, they gave way to that girlish gayety, and that 
unbounded enthusiasm, which a thorough sense of hap- 
piness and enjoyment cannot fail to inspire. Life was 
before them beautiful, glorious, and without end ! This 
was only nine years ago — and now ! 

As we look through Duncan’s eyes, we see that Della 
was the taller and more graceful of the two. Her hair 
and complexion were rather dark than fair ; long, dark 




14 


hubert\s wife. 


eyelashes shaded eyes deep blue, dreamy and wondrous 
in expression. We never mind mueh a nose, unless it 
be ugly to a deformity, or a model for the sculptor. 
An Angelo would have thrilled at sight of Della’s nose, 
and straightway wrought it into immortality, alto 
relievo. Her mouth and chin were as lovely and 
divinely rounded as any Madonna’s. The shape of her 
head was superb ; and she wore her hair, which was 
truly a glory in itself, somewhat like a crown, which 
left her finely curved ear liberty to show itself and to 
hear everything that was going on. Many would have 
rhapsodised over her lithe, slender form. Not we. 
More admirable that faithful approach to those olden 
models of the human form that exist in artists’ studios 
and adorn grand rooms of princely connoisseurs. 

Nature is everywhere lovely. Had the ancient 
Greeks chiselled but the wasp waists of our modern 
belles, their hideous works would have sunk into obli- 
vion in as little time as our self-made martyrs droj) into 
early graves. 

Not saying that Della Lisle, whose waist you could 
not ^^span with your two hands,” had foolishly contrib- 
uted to make less its natural size, but it was painfully 
suggestive of weakened lungs and an early translation. 

Ellice, on the contrary, possessed a low, plump figure, 
all curve and dimple, with no appearance of angularity 
or stiffness. She had a fair, round face, cheeks in which 
roses came and went, laughing blue eyes, a wide, low 
brow, auburn curls, nose not retrousscy but the least bit 
inclined that way, white teeth, somewhat large, but 
pretty, that really did look like pearls between such 
cherry-red lips, 


IIUBERT^S WIFE. 


15 


You might stand in respect and admiration before 
the dignified and intellectual Della Lisle ; but Ellice 
Linwood you would take to your heart. If you were 
gay, she M^ould laugh with you ; if serious, she would 
become pensive ; if sick, she would soothe and comfort 
you. 

She was the most unselfish creature in existence. 
Self-denial ceased to become such to her; her happiness 
was in yours alone. 

All things about the plantation brightened in presence 
of these two young maidens. Old servants grew more 
youthful, the young wiser and happier, and all, from 
black to brown, from young to old, as they looked upon 
the bright face of the northern stranger, turned dreamer 
and prophet. And this is what they dreamed and 
wished and foretold : that Master Duncan would make 
Ellice his wife and keep her forever. 

And Duncan ? Well, Avhilc such a spirit of prophecy 
reigned all around him, it is not to be supposed that it 
fell not on him also. He thought no more of seeking 
from his wise sister the solution of his antipathy to 
Miss Thornton. There was no room in his mind now 
for aught outside his home. 

In three weeks he asked Ellice to be his wife. The 
same day he dispatched a letter to the Principal of the 
Troy Ladies^ Seminary, soliciting a teacher for Colonel 
Anderson ; another message, also, to the father of his 
affianced, begging him to come down at once and per- 
form the marriage ceremony for his daughter. 

** Tills was doing up business very expeditiously. Of 
course it was soon noised near and far, that great quan- 
tities of snow-vdiite cake were being made at Kennons 


16 


Hubert’s wife. 


kitchen. Servants would talk ; little pitchers had ears, 
and birds carried news. 

Miss Thornton Avent in state to call upon the 
strangers. She saAV at a glance hoAV matters stood, or 
were going to stand. She could have torn out Ellice’s 
happy heart. As it Avas, she boAved to all haughtily as 
a queen, casting her last contemptuous glance at Miss 
LiiiAVOod’s face. 

Miss Thornton ordered to be driven rapidly home- 
Avard ; and, as she AA^as Avhirled along, her thoughts, in 
a SAvifter Avhirl, she meditated and resolved. 

Before the beAvildered clergyman could make his Avay 
doAvn from the North, before the goddess of Rumor her- 
self had even suspected such a thing, Miss Thornton’s 
Avhole retinue of suitors, and the people at large were 
electrified by the astounding intelligence that Mr. 
Harris, from Flat Rock, had been summoned to Thorn- 
ton Flail to unite in marriage its beautiful mistress. 
Miss Jerusha Thornton, to Doctor Jude Rush ! 

Dr. Jude Rush had the year previously emigrated to 
Mecklenburg county from the State of Maine There 
was about lilm nothing so extraordinary as to require 
particular description. He Avas an ordinary country 
doctor, about thirty in years, had sandy hair, Avas sandy 
complexioned, and Avore sandy clothes. This is not 
much to our taste, but then Ave did not marry him. 
Wo Avill assert, however, that had Ave been Madam 
Jerusha Thornton Rush, our first business Avould have 
been to engage him a black suit at the tailor’s ; but not 
a bottle of hair dye. Wc believe in adhering to nature,* 
though insisting that nature can be much assisted, par- 
ticularly in the matter of dress* 


Hubert’s wife. 


17 


Duncan Lisle had naught for which to reproach him- 
self. He had never made love to Miss Thornton, or 
given her reason for believing himself otherwise than 
indifferent. It had, however, been to him a source of 
uneasiness, this very knowledge of her unmistakable 
paftiality for him. Of this he was quite relieved at 
news of her marriage, which news he received, with a 
bountiful supply of bridal cake, as soon as possible 
after the ceremony. He chewed his cake and sweet 
fancies of Ellice together. A week later, Mrs. Kush 
threw his wedding cake to the dogs, her own bitter 
fancies being sufficient for her to consume. 

Faithful memory is on a race to-night, and she hurries 
Duncan Lisle from the beautiful picture of Ellice, his 
bride, over ground of a year or two, to that other pic- 
ture, no less dear, that of Ellice, the mother of his 
child. The rose has paled a little in her cheek, but the 
love-light is in her eye ; and can he ever, ever forget 
how, though he never called himself a Christian, his 
heart almost burst with thanksgiving to God when he 
clasped in his arms his world, his all — wife and child I 

Three years from the other wedding, and another 
takes place at Kennons. Philip St. Leger has finished 
his course at Princeton, and come to take away his long- 
promised bride. The first wedding had been altogether 
joyous ; this second was saddened and sorrowful. Della 
had become the wife of a missionary, and was to go at 
once to New York, taking ship thence to Turkey. 

The cruel separation had come then at length to the 
tried and true friends ; it might, nay, probably would, 
be forever in this world. 

In the light of memory, Duncan beholds his sister 


18 


Hubert’s wife. 


for the last time. She is very dear to him, one only 
more dear. He turns to comfort Ellice ; but Ellice, 
brave, heroic, crushes down her grief to comfort him. 

With Della gone, the wife appears alone in the suc- 
ceeding years. Alone, but ever bright and shining, 
whether amid her ebony domestics, or enthroned as wife 
and mother. Patient, cheerful, wise, and kind. 

O, Ellice Lisle ! model of all womanly virtues ! 
Shall a Cady Stanton preach to such as thou ? How 
wide with wonder and dismay would open those frank 
blue eyes at windy declamations about woman’s rights, 
woman’s freedom, and man’s tyranny. 

Woman voluntarily assumes the chains of matrimony. 
Be they of iron or of silk, the good wife discovereth 
not ; for it is only in an unholy struggle that they bind 
and fetter. 

Memory was hurrying Duncan Lisle apace to-night ; 
scenes in the last few years shifted with surprising 
rapidity ; everywhere Ellice was the centre-piece, her 
fair, pleasant face beaming from its framework of brown 
curls, that were almost ever in perpetual motion from 
the frequent toss of the busy little head. 

But memory, though faithful, was pitiful, and kept 
presenting, one after another, undarkened pictures, full 
of glow and sunshine ; she had not come down to the 
last three days of suspense and pain, of agony and 
desolation. Ere that cruel curtain of gloom should 
shut from the dreamer’s eye his pleasant fancies, and 
with them the dying flames, the loud barking of dogs, 
soon succeeded by hurried steps and voices, aroused the 
half-conscious master of Kennons to the stern reality 
of the present moment* 



CHAPTER ly. 

PHILIP ST. LEGEP. 

UNCAN LISLE, at onc.e thoroughly aroused, 
laid his sleeping child upon the lounge, and 
then hastily opening the door, which led 
upon the veranda, encountered the bronzed 
face and flashing eyes of his brother-inlaw, Philip 
St. Leger. Now this gentleman from Turkey was not 
a ghost, nor had he rained down. A staunch ship 
had brought him from Constantinople to New York ; 
a week he had spent with his friends at Troy; the 
lightning express, then so-called, from the latter city 
to Richmond; thence a stage had set him down at 
Flat-Rock ; here, public conveyance went no farther. 
The best and only means of transportation was on 
horseback. The roads were in too wretched a condi- 
tion for the Bald Eagle’s ” one rickety carriage to 
attempt to plough through. 

The returned missionary, almost distracted with care 
and fatigue, made a virtue of necessity. AVith black 
Sam as guide, he set off amid the rain and darkness for 
Kennons. 

It were better,” he said, mentally, that I should 
myself remain until the morning ; but having come so 
far, so near, I should be on thorns ; I must go.” 





20 


HUBERT S WIFE. 


Philip St, Leger was not a Virginian by birth. He 
was a native of the city at whose distinguished school 
Della Lisle had graduated. Only on the day of gradu- 
ation and at the time of her marriage had the brother 
and husband of Della met. 

It was a sad meeting now, on this dreary night. 
These men, still in the flush of manhood, clasped 
hands, and looked into each others’ eyes, with a despair- 
ing, inquiring eagerness. 

Their chill fingers were scarce unlocked when Dun- 
can asked : 

And did you come alone?” 

I brought her child ; but Della 1 left her sleep- 

ing beneath the shadow of the minarets.” 

Duncan stamped his foot. His cup of sorrow had 
been full. He had quafied with what patience possible 
its bitter draughts, and still were they poured in afresh. 

I wrote you particulars of her death a year ago : I 
learned at Flat-Rock that you never have received the 
mournful tidings. I learned also” — but his voice 
trembled, and he could not go on. 

Of the sudden death of my wife. Good God ! it 
may as Avell be spoken. Yes, she was to-day buried 
out of my sight.” 

O, my friend, speak not with such wildness.” 

But all is gone — all but dreary, wretched, useless 
life. O, what a world ! ” 

See here, my good brother,” said the missionary, in 
a more cheerful tone, I have come a long journey ; I 
am tired to death, wet through, hungry, and cold.” 

Before he had finished, Duncan’s hand had rang the 


hubekt’s wife. 


21 


bell violently. His right-hand man, Grandison, 
appeared. In a brief space of time, the fire was 
replenished, dry clothes produced, a small table of 
refreshments spread in the same cheery room, and the 
missionary, with commendable zeal, proceeded to refresh 
the inner man. 

Duncan paced the floor in a desperate manner. The 
missionary paused amidst his slices of cold chicken and 
ham, and thus addressed him : 

My friend, I am greatly distressed for you, but that 
helps you nothing. I have been through the same 
fiery trial; and I not only believed, but wished I 
might not survive the ordeal. I would not eat nor 
sleep, but grieved incessantly. It was so sudden, so 
unforeseen. Was it not singular that Della and Ellice, 
loving each other so well, should have gone so near 
each other and in the same way ? That is hardest of 
all ; martyrs were they in a true sense. But I had a 
friend, who aroused, warned, and induced me to eat, 
sleep, and go on with the duties of life. After one first 
great effort it is easier. If one must suffer, he may 
assuage his pain by bearing it bravely. The over- 
tending of a w^ound may produce worst consequences. 
Exposure to the air, frequent ablutions, occasional fric- 
tions, create healing processes, reduce sensitiveness, and 
restore somewhat of the old life and vigor. I dare say 
you have not eaten a mouthful to-day ; come, eat, drink 
with me. I will not preach you a sermon, but let us 
philosophize like sensible men.^^ 

Thus solicited, Duncan drew up his chair opposite 
his friend. With evident disgust he swallowed the 


22 


Hubert’s wife. 


first mouthful, but this morsel seemed to awaken appe- 
tite, and he made a respectable meal. 

Having thus broken his involuntary fast, he felt, in 
a sense, refreshed, and producing some fine cigars, the 
friends sat down before the fire, where, looking through 
the blue wreaths, they seemed to gain a soothing and 
an inspiration. The missionary gave to his host a 
brief history of his life with Della, of her sickness and 
death, and then incidentally gave a sketch here and 
there of his own youth. We will commence where he 
left ofi*, giving but the substance in brief, instead of his 
own words, so often interspersed Avith irrelevant allu- 
sions and Interrupted by remark and question. 

Philip St. Leger was the son of a sea captain. His 
youth, of course, he spent mostly at school, its monot- 
ony varied more than once by a prolonged voyage with 
his father at sea. His mother was a woman of society, 
and left her children much to the care of servants. 
Consequently, she had much trouble Avith them in after 
years. Philip was the oldest child. He Avas naturally 
good-dlspositioned and tractable ; but, owing to a false 
system of training, became headstrong and altogether 
beyond maternal control. 

At the age of nineteen, after a wild and fruitless 
career at college, and after repeated suspensions, he was 
really expelled near the beginning of the senior year. 
To his parents this Avas a scvei^c mortification, and Iris 
father, being at that moment at home, sent him to some 
distant cousins, Avho lived among the Avhitc hills of 
Ncav Hampshire. 

Colonel Selby, in Avhose family Philip found him- 


HUBERT^S WIFE. 


23 


self domiciled, was a fine specimen of the country gen- 
tleman. Genial, hospitable, full of wit and anecdote, 
he was also a member of the Baptist Church, an ex- 
Senator of the United States, and ex-Governor of his 
own State. His eldest son was married, his youngest 
still in college, and his only daughter, about the age 
of twenty-two, was still an almost idolized child 
beneath her father’s roof. The mother of these chil- 
dren had died a few years previously, and a widow 
from the city had supplied her place in the father’s 
home and heart. 

Philip St. Leger, black-haired, black-eyed, melan- 
choly and romantic in look, cityfied and aristocratic in 
air and manner, attracted much attention among the sim- 
ple people of the quiet town of Newberg. He could not 
help perceiving that, for the first time in his 11% he 
had become a veritable lion. The very fact that he 
was Col. Selby’s guest and relative gave to him import- 
ance; another fact, that he. was the son of a wealthy 
sea captain from a distant city, was all-powerful. 

It had indeed crept out somehow that he had been 
wild and extravagant, that he had been sent to rusti- 
cate among rocks and hills so sterile there would be 
little chance for his wild acts to take root ; but then, 
CO some old ladies and young ones too, this rumor lent 
but additional interest. 

Poor boy ! what else could one expect ? With such 
comeliness of person, endless wealth, unlimited advan- 
tages — the only wonder was he was not completely 
ruined.” And he was compassionated and pitied for 
being obliged to remain in so old-fashioned and out-of- 
the-way country town as insignificant Newberg. 


24 


IIUBERT^S WIFE. 


This pity was quite thrown away. Philip St. Leger 
was in his element ; he had never been so happy in his 
life; Ne\\berg was made up of hills, in the midst of 
grander mountains ; it nestled in the western shadow 
of Keansarge ; and King’s Hill and Sunapee reared 
loftily around her their bold bleak fronts. A beautiful 
lake of the same name lay blue and clear at Sunapee’s 
foot. Pleasant Lake” lay in another direction, 
famous for its delicious trout and fragrant pond lilies. 

Philip, the young scapegrace from city and from 
college, was in an ecstacy ; he had never beheld skies 
so blue, lakes so fair, landscapes so lovely ; with every 
breath he seemed to draw in life, vigor, and a new 
sense of beauty. Every morning he was up at sunrise, 
scouring the country upon the back of Nellie, a grace- 
ful, fleet young mare which Col. Selby had gener- 
ously set aside for his use. Maids, matrons, and small 
boys stood in gaping amaze, stool in one hand and milk 
pail in the other, watching half-fearfully, half-admir- 
ingly, the fearless young equestrian, who shot by like a 
comet, his long, black hair streaming in the wind. 

It was Philip’s delight to create this stare and won- 
der, to which poor Nellie was obliged to contribute 
still more than her young master’s pleasure. If he 
could leap over some low garden wall, dart over a 
famous strawberry bed, or amidst the melon patch, he 
thought he had done something splendid. The owner’s 
dismay, not alone at the ruin, but at the untamed spirit 
that dared it, gave him peculiar delight. 

Those old ladies who found their fattest goose dang- 
ling half-dead from the apple-bough in the early morn- 


HUBERT’S WIFE. 


25 


ing, or who looked in vain for patient cows within the 
yard, whose bars had mysteriously disappeared, began 
less to admire this youthful metropolitan. 

Complaints poured in upon Col. Selby. At first he 
laughed and made light of them ; then he consulted 
his wife. She was a staid, proper person, careful of the 
family^s good name and popularity. It would never 
do. Philip ought to have some sense of what was due 
to his host; since he had not, he must be put in mind 
of it. She would undertake the task herself. 

This she did, but without effect. Philip had pro- 
mised sorrow and amendment with a long face, but 
inwardly he laughed, and after, became seven times 
worse than before. 

Complaints multiplied. Not only were geese and 
cows Interfered with, but dogs and horses were found 
tied to saplings or shut up in most unimaginable 
places. Burdocks and thistles appeared in meeting- 
house pews, where they surely had never before been 
known spontaneously to spring ; teachers in the Sun- 
day school were shocked to learn that they had dis- 
tributed dime novels with books and tracts. The min- 
ister, one morning in the pulpit, solemnly opened his 
Bible, and unexpectedly beholding a most ludicrous 
picture, laughed outright, to the great scandal of every 
looker-on. 

Now this was too much. Mrs. Selby had passed by 
stories of green-apple showers falling Upon homeward- 
bound school children's heads ; she had even smilingly 
held her peace when laughingly assured that a troop 
of dogs and cats had gone madly wailing and howling 
3 


2G 


Hubert’s wife. 


through the streets, a miniature world flaming with 
fire attached by means of wires to each caudal append- 
age — even that was too much decidedly. But this 
tampering with the meeting-house ! Mrs. Selby con- 
sulted first her husband, as in duty bound ; that is, she 
called him aside, told him the latest pranks of their 
protege, and emphatically added that there should be 
an end of them. 

But wife, I cannot turn the boy out of my house.” 

You need not, my dear; that is my privilege, par- 
ticularly since he is my relative, not yours. Forbear- 
ance now would cease to be a virtue ; there is a limit to 
human endurance ; there shall at once be an end to this 
boy’s mad pranks. He is on the piazza, perhaps 
studying some new mischief; send him in to me, 
please.” 

But are you not too hasty, Avife ? ” urged the soft- 
liearted ex-Governor, who remembered his own follies 
and frolics of long ago. 

Too hasty, when Ave have all borne so much? Gov. 
Selby ” — Avith a smile — alloAV your Avife to command 
you ; send that naughty boy hither.” 

An hour later, Philip having sought her in house 
and garden, stood in presence of Mary Selby, at last 
discovered in her attic studio. 

Your mother has banished me; she has already 
spoken the fatal Avords ; I must leave NeAvberg, this 
garden spot of God’s glorious earth — most of all, I 
must leave you, cousin Mary, and I shall be lost, for- 
ever lost,” exclaimed this strange youth, in tones melo- 
dramatic. 

Mary laid aside her palette and brushes. 


Hubert’s wife. 


27 


Why then, cousin Phil, haven’t you done better, 
after so many repeated warnings ? ” 

It is easy for you to ask that question, and you can 
answer it better than can I, Why do you not ask the 
wind why and whence it blows ? Why do the waters 
overflow their banks, why ocean waves engulf life- 
freighted ships?” 

No, Philip, there is no analogy. Be reasonable ; 
you are a being of will ; you can do or not do. He 
is only a child who exercises no self-control, who is 
governed only by caprice, whim, or whatever passion 
of the moment. These follies, of which my mother 
makes account, and rightly, are beneath one of your 
age. There is in them nothing ennobling, charming ; 
nothing that should gratify a mind that has the faintest 
conception of the good, the beautiful, and the true.” 

I suppose so, cousin. But I have so long indulged 
in this fun-loving propensity ” — 

^^That it has grown into an inveterate habit. Is 
this, then, a part of your better nature ? Is there no 
depth beneath this evanescent surface — froth and foam ? 
I belive there is. But in order that it may be discov- 
ered to the light and made lit for cultivation, this tri- 
vial surface-crust must be turned under, kept down, 
lest light and heat nourish its weeds into luxuriance.” 

Why have you not talked to me thus before ? You 
could do anything with me, cousin Mary.” 

^^I will tell you ^.he truth, Philip, because 1 think I 
owe it you. I went not wlt^^ you to ride or v^alk, 1 
have kept myself aloof from you, because my parents 
thought you too wild for my association.” 


28 


Hubert’s wife. 


am nofc a bear, and I might be better than I 
seem/’ said the proud boy, humbly. 

^^Yes, Philip, I believe you. And I have often 
thought I might do you good. Had you been my 
brother I should not have hesitated ; but I had a sus- 
pieion that you might regard any persuasions or lectures 
from me as a piece of self-righteousness, for which you 
might have, as do I, supreme contempt.” 

O, no, cousin. You are the best woman in the 
world. I would do anything for you.” 

Leave off all of those mischievous pranks which 
are the cause of your present disgrace ? ” 

Yes, even that — and more. But it is too late now. 
I go to-morrow.” 

The result of this and still further conversation to 
the same effect j^i’oduced a conviction upon the mind 
of Mary that the spoiled child was not beyond hope of 
redemption. She laid the case before her parents, and, 
with the aid of her father, obtained a reluctant consent 
from her mother that one more trial might be given the 
recreant Philip. 

Even without this Mary would have gained her point, 
for on the next morning Philip, burning with fever^ 
Was unable to leave his bed. 

A severe attack of typhoid ensued. 

When Philip St. Leger, after a dangerous illness of 
many weeks, became convalescent, he was a changed 
person. Not alone through the influence of Mary, 
but Colonel Selby, and cspecip’Iydils wife, were brought 
to realize how prone they had been to reproach and 
condemn without having made the slightest efforts to 


Hubert’s wife. 


29 


reform. A neglected, untutored, un-Christianized 
young man had been placed in their care — was it too 
late to redeem the past? No effort was left untried, 
though exercised with the greatest delicacy to bring the 
young heathen’s mind to a proper state of its former 
unhealthfulness, of its present pressing needs. 

Mary read to him biographies of the good and great. 
She read ennobling works of poetry and counsel. She 
brought before his mind by example how superior was 
earnestness to trivialty, strict integrity to knavery and 
falsehood, goodness and piety to wickedness and infi- 
delfty. As she read and commented, her voice became 
to Philip as the voice of an angel. Her work was 
indeed accomplished when, after having listened to her 
rendering of St. Paul’s gran d epistles, there sprang up 
in his heart, first : Almost thou persuadest me to be 
a Christian ; ” then this full, heart-swelling sympathy 
with the Apostle’s words : 

^^For I am persuaded that neither death, nor life, 
nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things 
present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor 
any creature, shall be able to separate us from the love 
of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” 

3 * 



CHAPTER V. 



TITE MISSIOXARY’s RETROSPECT. 

HOUGH Philip St. Leger would have do:io^ 
ill almost all things, as Mary Selby directed^ 
upon one certain point he was inflexible. 
Tliis was upon the subject of immersion ; 
he would not go down into the waters of Lake Suna- 
pee, following the custom of the Newbergians. 

During his boyhood his mother had been a member 
of the Presbyterian society; latterly, for some good 
reason or other, she had made a move into the Episco- 
pal ; whether through whim for popularity, or for con- 
science^ sake was best known to herself. Her puri- 
tanical cousin, Mrs. Col. Selby, and a very worthy 
woman she was, regarded Mrs. St. Leger as a heretic, 
and looked upon the troubles with her children as a 
just punishment for having left the Church of her 
fathers. She had herself, however, meantime made 
very considerable concessions to her own religious con- 
victions. For, while stoutly believing in sprinkling, in 
infant baptism, in open communion, and In each and 
every tenet of Presbyterianism, she had actually been 
received into the Calvinistic Baptist Church I What 
an unheard-of thing ! It created no little talk among 



nUBERT’s WIFE. 


31 


the good people of Newberg, and more for this reason: 
Mrs. Job Manning, a farmer’s wife, who dutifully 
assisted her husband in earning a frugal living on the 
rocky sides of King’s Hill, having been a Congrega- 
tionalist, had been refused years previously, admittance 
to this same Church. She was poor, had a family oi 
young children, had no way of traveling thirty miles to 
her own nearest meeting-house, and had humbly begged, 
with her husband, who was already a good Baptist, to 
be received into the Church. Failing this, since she 
could not consent to immersion, and shrank from the 
doctVine of close communion, she, or rather her husband, 
demanded that she might be allowed to partake occa- 
sionally of the Lord’s Supper. 

Rev. Mr. Savage, and 'the dignified Deacon Gould, 
and his equally dignified colleague, Deacon Drake, gazed 
very solemnly down upon the communion table, pursing 
up their mouths most decidedly, as if a sacrilege had 
already been committed by so astounding a proposition. 
Of course the duty fell upon Mr. Savage, the minister, 
to declare before all present that the demand of brother 
Manning, in behalf of his wife, was unreasonable, 
incomprehensible, and un-Chrlstian. 

Was Mrs. Manning a Christian ? Then let her be 
baptized in a Christian manner, and thereby show her- 
self worthy to eat the bread and drink the wine. Until 
such time there could be no admittance. 

The two solemn-looking deacons on either side of 
the dogmatic speaker raised approvingly their eyes, 
and after balancing themselves a moment upon their 
toes, settled back upon their heels as grave and decorous 
as before. 


32 


IIUBEKT’b AVIFE. 


Brother Job Manning arose hastily, and said ; 

My wife, Nancy Manning, is as good a Christian 
woman as the town of Newberg holds. I eat with her 
at home, thank God, and if she ain^t good enough to 
eat with me at the table of the Lord, then I ain’t good 
enough neither, and you can have it all to yourselves.” 

And Job Manning, somewhat angry, it must be con- 
fessed, strode out from the assembled body of Christians, 
up to his pew in the side aisle, and plucking his wife 
by the sleeve, who arose and followed him, marched 
out of the Baptist church for good and all. 

But in the case of Mrs. Colonel Selby it was alto- 
gether ditferent. She was a Avoman of wealth and 
influence. She could do so very much for the Baptist 
church, it Avould never do to offend her. And the 
Colonel was so devoted to her, he might go off in a huff 
as poor Job Manning had done, and stand it out to the 
bitter end. It was a dilemma, no disputing about that. 
A bad precedent, more particularly after the precedent 
in the Manning case. But it must be got along with, 
and it was^ and Mrs. Colonel Selby, a strict and ultra 
Presbyterian, always open and outspoken, became an 
honored member of this closely-guarded Baptist fold- 
What was to hinder ? Who was to say, why do you 
so ? No bishop Avith his interdict, no Pope Avith his 
thunders from the Vatican.” Here Avas one of the 
beauties of the Protestant system. 

System,” says Webster, is an assemblage of things 
adjusted into a regular whole, or a Avhole plan or scheme 
consisting of many parts connected in such a manner 
as to create a chain of mutual dependencies.” It is 


lIUBERT’fc) AVIFE. 


33 


not at all strange that Protestantism should protest 
against this definition, and should establish its own 
instead : An assemblage of things so adjusted and built 
up as that they may easily be rearranged or completely 
demolished as occasion may require, or a whole plan or 
scheme consisting of many parts so connected as to 
create a gossamer-thread of mutual independencies. 

Mrs. Selby was too shrewd and sensible not to see 
the inconsistency involved. But then she was quite 
used to inconsistencies. Moreover, she deemed herself 
quite in the right, and the Baptist Church had mounted 
upon the plane it behooved itself to stand ; at all events, 
it must answer for its own right and wrong doing, as 
Mrs. Selby expected to answer for her own. 

Mary Selby sought not to influence Philip in the 
matter of his baptism. She saw where his inclination 
tended and was silent. He accompanied his mother’s 
cousin to her native city, and was there received into 
the First Presbyterian by Mrs. Selby’s venerable and 
beloved friend, Ecv. Mr. Storrs. 

Colonel Selby used his influence in infringing upon 
the college rules of Dartmouth, and the young man, 
expelled from one college, was received into another. 
So bad use had he made of his former advantages that 
he was obliged to go back to the sophomore year ; even 
here he had to study early and late to maintain his 
position. 

Aft^r three years of assiduous diligence, he graduated 
with honor, when, for the first time since the day of his 
disgrace, he visited his paternal home. 

His fashionable mother viewed her handsome, schol- 


34 


HUBERT^S WIFE. 


arly son^ not only with amazement, but with pride and 
satisfaction. His three sisters, all grown into woman- 
hood, the youngest being sixteen, were at first rather 
shy of him. They had not forgotten how he used to 
annoy and vex them. They early perceived the change, 
and became distressingly fond of him. It would be so 
nice to have an elder brother to go Avith them every- 
where. And such a brother ! so fine-looking, who had 
an air so distinguished, a face so poetical and classical ! 
O, wouldn’t all the other girls envy them this splendid 
brother ? They Avould make a grand party, and exhibit 
him at once. 

What was their dismay on finding that he absolutely 
refused to show himself to the guests ! The wealthiest, 
most learned, most Uite of the city Avere all in the 
draAving-rooms, beauty and fashion Avere in full gloAV 
and floAV, music all atremble to stir into life, bright eyes 
Avere flashing expectation, and dainty lips had sweet 
Avords Avaiting to say, and he AA^ould not appear ! In 
vain the mother coaxed, flattered, and got angry ; in 
vain the sisters pleaded, begged, cried, and insisted. 
He Avas inexorable. But they had made the party on 
purpose for him ! 

Why had they not informed him sooner ? He could 
have saved them all the trouble and disappointment. 
He could have told them he Avas no lion, and Avould 
not be paraded. He had not been in society for three 
3’cars ; he Avas never again going into society. 

This, tlien, came of going off into the country ! 

] juried alive. Come out so peerless and beautiful, and 
all to no purpose ! lie might just as Avcll have been a 


Hubert’s avife. 


35 


By great efforts the mother and daughters choked 
down their Avrath and mortification, bathed their swollen 
eyes, put on fresh lily Avhite and carmine, and joined 
their guests. What should they have for an excuse ? 
O, a sick headache — sudden and distressful — he Avas 
subject to them ; poor Philip ! 

Later ill the evening, Estelle St. Leger led Della 
Lisle up to her OAvn room. They Avere passing through 
the hall. Opposite her door, Estelle stooped to lace her 
slipper, for Avhich purpose she had left the drawing- 
room. 

^^So he has no headache,*’ said Della, ^^and absents 
himself only from aversion to society ? ” 

That is all,” replied Estelle, pettishly. Isn’t he 
stupid ? ” 

^^No, I just begin to think right well of him. I 
have no respect for some of those effeminate butterflies 
doAvn stairs, Avho say only silly nothings, because, for- 
sooth, they think AA^e can appreciate nothing better, or 
because they ha\^e nothing better to offer.” 

^^But I thought you were quite captivated Avith 
EdAvard Damon ? You tAvo, for the last half hour, 
have seemed to be unconscious that there Avas aught else 
in the AA^orld save that one corner that held you.” 

EdAA^ard Damon is an exception. He is intelligent, 
unaffected, and agreeable. He is not all simper and 
softness. He can talk Avith one Avithout being lost in 
his OAvn self-conceit, fancying you deep in admiration 
of his OAvn charming self. Yes, I really like Edward 
Damon.” 

The shoe Avas laced, and the girls passed on, but the 


36 


Hubert's wife. 


voice of Della Lisle seemed still to linger upon the ears 
of Philip. His own door opened upon the hall very 
near to the waiting girls ; he had heard every word. 
First, the voice of Della was pleasant and gentle ; it 
powerfully attracted him ; second, her words were not 
those of an ordinary city lady. 

A sensible girl, that — Della, Estelle called her ; a 
2)retty name. And Edward Damon is there, it seems, 
the best fellow I ever knew. Who knows ? Maybe a 
shoe-string influences my fate. At all events, I am 
influenced in a way I may not resist.^^ 

And Philip St. Leger, with extraordinary inconsis- 
tency, soon appeared among his mother’s guests. There 
was but one drawback to the joy and gratification of 
that mother and the three sisters — his necktie was not 
of the very latest style. 



CHAPTER VI. 

MISSIONARY LIFE. 

N falling in love with Della Lisle at first 
sight, Philip pleased himself only and his 
sister Estelle; that is, if we leave Della 
out. His mother had the tall, graeeful 
daughter of a millionaire selected for him ; Leonora, 
the elder sister, had her pet friend Miss De Rosier, 
secretly engaged and under promise ; J uliet, the younger, 
wished him never to fall in love, never to marry, but to 
remain forever her dear, only, adorable brother Philip, 
for whom she would give up all the world and live a 
maiden to the end of her life. 

Thjs engagement with Della, however, was not the 
worst that might be. They discovered this to their 
discomfiture when shortly after he announced to them 
one morning at the breakfast-table that on the follow- 
ing week he should leave for Princeton. 

A theological course at Princeton ! A true-blue 
Presbyterian, a long-faced, puritanical minister, who 
would deem it a sin to laugh, speak, or wink on a Sun- 
day. And this was what their brother was coming to. 
This was why it had been impossible to get him to go 
with them to St. Markus Church, though thev had told 
i 






38 


HUBERTS WIFE. 


him how beautifully High Church it was ; how it had a 
high altar and candles, almost like the Romanists, only 
that it was not at all Romish, but entirely and truly 
Catholic! Was ever such like woful perversity? 
When they had just got a brother to be proud of, who 
could take them to theatres, concerts, balls, operas, and 
everywhere, for him to go and degenerate into an old 
solemn Presbyterian minister ! It would be bearable, 
if he must be a minister, if he would only be a High 
Churchman, and would be called a priest, and wear the 
surplice, and read the service in his charming voice, 
and be rector of such a fine, rich church as our own 
St. Markus ! They could put up with that, because ho 
could still go with them to places of amusement, and 
would not be likely to scold them for dancing all night 
and sleeping all day. Besides, his praise would be in 
everybody's mouth, he would speedily get a D. D. to 
his name, the ladies would all admire him, and he 
would still be their own, own brother. They wished 
he had never seen Newberg, nor Colonel Selby^s family, 
nor Dartmouth College. They forgot or were ungrate- 
ful for his transformation from a state of good-for- 
nothingism to comparative Christian virtue* 

Philip perceived and was pained at the folly and 
frivolousness of his mother^s household, but any attempt 
at change more favorable appeared to him so herculean, 
that he made scarcely an effort in its behalf. He was 
conscious that therein lay neglect of duty ; they might 
owe to him what he owed to Mary Selby. Often when 
he thought of her he bowed his head reverently, and 
said : I have two saviours — an earthly and a heavenly 
—Mary Selby and my Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ* 


HUBERT^S WIFE. 


39 


To the near relatives of Philip his going to Prinee- 
ton was so much like burying him, that when, after 
three years, he returned finally to his home and an- 
nounced that in one month he was both to marry and 
sail as missionary to Turkey they were scarcely sur- 
prised. They made no outcries and no ado ; they had 
given him up long ago ; he would be no company for 
them in their rounds of gaiety and fashion ; he might 
as well be teaching heathens or Musselmen in the king- 
doms of the Brother to the Sun as a dry, dull parson 
in America, ever in danger of offending their aristo- 
cratic tone and ideas by his sober, old-fashioned notions. 

After his marriage, before embarking for Turkey, 
Philip, with his bride, paid a visit to Newberg. His 
second sermon he preached in the Baptist church. To 
those simple-minded country people, he stood before 
them a living illustration of what the grace of God 
might effect. Six years previously he had startled and 
amazed them, as though he had ridden through the air 
on a broomstick ; now he came back to them in peace 
and gentleness. Before he had laid sacrilegious hands 
upon the Holy Bible in the sacred pulpit; now he 
opened the same reverently and read from thence the 
words of eternal life. The change was indeed marvel* 
lous, and Newberg proudly set him down as a second 
Paul the Apostle. 

Della was dreadfully seasick on the ocean voyage, • 
and, as she often declared, it seemed she never became 
completely well again. Owing to this delicate state of 
her health, the St. Legers did not accompany their 
companions to the field assigned them, a small town in 


40 


lltiBEET S WIFE, 


the interior, but remained in Constantinople, at the 
house of Dr. Adams, resident Protestant minister of 
that city. 

It was not until after the birth and death of her first 
child, when her health became somewhat reinstated, 
that Della was able to accompany her husband to their 
contemplated mission. Here they rejoined their com- 
panions of a year ago ; Mr. and Mrs. Fisher, and Mr. 
and Mrs. Dodd. It had been a former mission until 
recently abandoned ; the houses, small and inconve- 
nient at best, had either been appropriated or fallen to 
decay. 

A few rooms had been made habitable, and here the 
missionaries had taken up their abode. Cheerless it 
seemed and disheartening to Philip and Della, as they 
saw.no progress at all made in the objects of their long 
journey, but every effort consumed in struggles for 
daily bread. 

What have you been doing asked the St. Legers, 
so wonderingly as to convey almost a reproach. 

The same as yourselves, retorted the Fishers and 
the Dodds, nursing our healths to make us well.^^ 
We will all begin together then,’^ said Philip pacify- 
ingly. 

As soon as you please ; you shall lead and we will 
follow,^^ answered the associates. 

Notwithstanding this ebullition of energy at the out- 
set, month after month, nay, year after year elapsed 
without the least material progress. What was termed 
a school would be sometimes kept up for weeks 
together, at which some few children could be coaxed 


hubert’b wife. 


41 


to come ; but after the supply of pictures, ornaments, 
etc., with which they had been attracted gave out, the 
attendance languished and the idle urchins sought 
amusement elsewhere. 

Bibles were flung out with a lavish hand to men, 
women, and children who had never before possessed 
such a treasure as a book ; and this book might for 
them just as well have been a bundle of old almanacs, 
for all printed language was Greek to them. And they, 
these missionaries, did not believe that the mere pos- 
session of the holy word of God could impart or draw 
down God^s grace upon the possessor ; for that would 
be akin to the miraculous, and they eschewed faith in 
miracles. 

An attempt was made at expounding and hearing the 
word of God on Sundays, There was good enough will 
in these expositions, but the ears and the hearts for 
receiving were far away. People, it is true, would come 
some days in crowds, but it was not for instructions ; 
they went as young America goes to see a band of tur- 
baned Turks, or Barnum’s latest humbug. 

Where was the use of spending so many persons^ 
energies upon such a stolid, indifferent, intractable peo- 
ple ? They were wedded to their idols, why not leave 
them alone? Why should they cast pearls before 
swine ? 

These were questions the missionaries asked them- 
selves ; and answered too, if not to their satisfaction, to 
the best of their ability. Their time became more and 
more consumed in the care of their increasing families. 

These missionaries in their home-reports might well 

4 * 


42 


Hubert’s wife. 


speak of hardships. The women were often sick, help 
could but rarely be obtained, and then of the poorest 
quality; thus these gentlemanly graduates of Yale, 
Dartmouth, and Princeton had often not only to cook 
meals for the family, but to wash, iron, attend the sick 
wife and helpless infants, and suffer all the anxieties and 
annoyances that human flesh is heir to. What wonder 
that they came gradually to lose sight of the grand 
aspirations that had animated their early manhood? 
To forget, as it were, the objects and aims of their holy 
mission, and to sink into the mere paterfamilias, like 
other good masters of families ? There seemed no 
alternative; the routine of domestic duties must be 
accomplished ; the sick must be attended to ; hungry 
mouths must be fed, fast-coming forms must be clothed. 
Where was the time to go forth seeking the heathen or 
compelling him to come in? The wife and children 
could neither be taken nor left alone. In fact, the mis- 
sionaries found to their great surprise, as all experienced 
men have found, that the care of a family is a never- 
ceasing, all-engrossing responsibility. The outside 
work could be very small indeed ; all had to centre in 
that one spot, home. They cultivated small gardens, 
and in this way eked out their subsistence on the small 
salaries received from the Board of Missions. 

Thus lived they from year to year, hopeless of the 
present, but overflowing with hopes for the future. 
Though they could labor not now in Christ’s vineyard, 
they might do so by and by ; though they might live 
to behold no fruit of their labors, they might, unknown 
even to themselves, have sown the good seed, and their 


iiubekt’s wife. 


43 


children's children, and the children of heathendom 
might arise up and call them blessed. 

Della Lisle’s life — or rather Della St. Leger’s — in 
tlie land of her adoption, lasted but five years ; she had 
buried two little children, who, so brief was their exist- 
ence, could scarcely be said to have lived at all. As 
her third trial was approaching and her health in 
wretched state it was deemed best that she should be 
taken by easy stages to Constantinople, where English 
medical advice could be procured. The journey proved 
invigorating, and Della landed at Dr. Adams’ in 
almost as good health as when she had left, more than 
four years previously. 

There was always good company at the house of 
Dr. Adams. English and American travelers, whether 
religious or not, were wont to claim his hospitalityo 

Upon the arrival of the St. Legers, a very interest- 
ing gentleman was spending a few days ; he bore the 
common name of Chase, but he was no common man. 
Though still in the prime of life, he had traveled the 
world over, made himself conversant with all lan- 
guages, manners, and customs, studied into all fanati- 
cisms and all religions, and if he had ended in having 
faith in none, as such people often do, he admirably 
kept his own counsel. 

After coffee, the Doctor with his guests withdrew to 
the open court ; distributing a Turkish pipe to each, he 
sat himself down upon his cushion, prepared to listen 
to this traveled friend with his usual animation. 

Dr. Adams’ liouse being head-quarters for missiona- 
ries coming and going, and Philip St. Leger being at 


44 


HUBERTS WIFE. 


this time the third who had arrived within a day or 
two, the others being still present, the conversation 
naturally turned upon missionary life. 

Now, Mr. Chase was a Yankee ; and though a cul- 
tivated one, he had not parted with an innate inquisi- 
tiv^eness, and had an off-hand way of asking such 
questions as first presented. He catechised these three 
missionaries as faithfully, even in presence of Dr. 
Adams, as if he had been President of the American 
Board. He desired to know the number of years spent 
in the work, the size and extent of their missions, the 
number of actual converts, and also all about their own 
families and modes of living. 

Having apparently satisfied himself, Mr. Chase said, 
wheeling around to the Doctor : 

^^The same story. In my various travels I have 
come frequently across these missionary stations ; you 
will pardon me if I tell you what you cannot fail to 
know, that they are complete failures. In my opinion, 
the money might be better expended in planting gun- 
powder.^^ 

The three youthful missionaries opened wide their 
eyes, but the Doctor smoked away complacently. 



CHAPTER VII. 



THE DISTINGUISHED TBAYELER^S VIEWS, 

R. CHASE dropped his pipe, as if in a great 
hurry, and continued; 

^^Now, here are three missionaries, and 
they will excuse me, as I am about to pre- 
sent to them a great truth — each of whom has left 
at his respective station from two to four colleagues. 
There are then from ten to fifteen men, with as many 
women and more children ; the difficulty is with these 
women and children; they are very dear, precious 
objects, I have no doubt, in their own homes and in 
Christian lands, but they are only clogs and draw- 
backs in such an enterprise as these young men are 
engagedo A man alone can dive into forests, scale 
mountains, swim rivers, fight lions, eat raw birds, 
make his bed in caves, or on solid rock, lie down with 
the Indian, rise up with the Hindustan, do any and 
every conceivable wild outlandish thing that the world’s 
nations do ; but with a woman — pshaw, that alters the 
casoc’’ 

But there are instances of brave women,” remarked 
the Doctoro Look at Lady Hester Stanhope, and 
Lady ” 




46 


Hubert’s wife. 


But they were unmarried women. There are the 
Amazons of old too, and Amazons are not wanting at 
the present time — but such do not come within my 
category. From the very nature of the case, a man 
with a wife is fettered ; he cannot be absent from home 
twenty-four consecutive hours. She is afraid of the 
dark, afraid of dogs and lions, of robbers and murder- 
ers, afraid the children will get sick, or that ^something 
or other will be sure to happen, as always does if he is 
away.’ He too is as uneasy as herself, meditates all 
sorts of mishaps, imagines the house on fire, Johnny 
in the well, Fanny with a bean in her throat or a corn 
in her ear, and is on thorns and briers until his own 
house circles him around again. This is all right and 
natural for the ordinary domestic man ; but, as I under- 
stand it, the missionary undertakes God’s work; he 
renounces the world, its joys, comforts, friendships; 
he is no longer his own ; but his will, love, obedience, 
and work is all for God, his Master, and for the heathen 
who know Him not. The truth is, the man who con- 
siders himself called to missionary labors should leave 
his wife behind him ; that is, he should have no wife.” 

The Doctor, who was now a man of sixty, had been 
thrice married, and was now entertaining thoughts of 
a fourth Avife, took his pipe from his lips and said 
emphatically : 

You are an extremist, Mr. Chase, you speak tnus 
perhaps because it has been your lot to lead a single 
life ; but, let me tell you, I think our missionaries sac- 
rifice enough, without being obliged to come wifeless 
among negroes, Hindoos, South-sea islanders, and Can- 


Hubert’s wife. 


47 


nibals. A dreary life afc best — unendurable without 
companionship. You wouldn’t get a man to sail under 
the conditions you propose.” 

^^Did the Apostles have wives and children pulling 
after them ? ” continued Mr. Chase. Imprisoned, 
stoned, beaten, and scoffed, was their life less dreary 
than should be the missionary’s of to-day ? What says 
St. Paul — ^ thrice was I stoned, thrice was I beaten 
with rods, thrice I suffered shipwreck, a night and a 
day have I been in the deep.’ Do you suppose it ever 
occurred to that mighty, God-like spirit, even in the 
lowest depth of his worldly misery, that it would be a 
comfort to have a wife come to weep with him, to hand 
him fresh gown and sandals ? Never so far fell that 
grand soul from its exalted repose upon the bosom of 
the Infinite ! F rom that source whence he drew courage 
sublimer, faith diviner, and strength irresistible, which 
no woman’s heart or hand could aid in evoking ! Ah, 
that was a glorious St. Paul.” 

You are eloquent, sir, as all of us might well be 
over such a subject,” said the Doctor; ^^but you must 
remember that only one St. Paul has ever lived.” 

Though he has been a model for many. I dont 
know — only one St. Paul ? I think if we look back 
into history — say, take the Fathers of the Desert — there 
was St. Jerome, a grand old man, St. Augustine, with 
less of fire, but of lofty faith, St. Ephrem, there, in 
him you have a St. Paul in eloquence; you will remem- 
ber that his words were wont to flow so rapidly that his 
frequent exclamation was — ^ O Lord, stay the tide of 
Thy grace.’ Why, the number is countless whose labors. 


is 


Hubert’s wife. 


toils, and self-denials were gigantic. St. Benedict, St, 

Wilfred, St. Bernard stand out ” 

The Doctor having thrown down his pipe and com- 
menced walking the floor, here interrupted his enthu- 
siastic guest : 

O, if you go to taking up the Boman Catholic cal- 
endar of Saints, you will find plenty of fish in illimita- 
ble waters ; but that is out of our line of coasting, you 
must know ; and we are not in the habit of associating 
St. Paul with any of these latter-day Saints.” 

Please allow me. Dr. Adams, you know I am a 
privileged person. My last-named Saint, Bernard, 
lived at least four hundred years before Luther and 
John Knox, and Wilfred and Benedict much nearer to 
Christ than to us, the latter having been separated in 
time but four centuries from his Lord ; but let us not 
contend upon this point ; I cheerfully admit my own 
superior admiration for the converted persecutor of the 
Christians.” 

If his like has not been seen through eighteen hun- 
dred years, we may not look for it in the nineteenth 
century,” remarked the Doctor. 

I still insist, however,” said the indomitable Mr 
Chase, that he has had many imitators ; and that 
brings us back to the subject whence we have strayed, 
and upon which I have not said all that I had intended. 
I was going to remark, after asserting that missionaries 
should leave their wives at home, that the success of 
Catholic missionaries illustrates the truth of this.” 

beg you to remember,” interposed the Doctor, 
testily, that we do not wish to be compared in any 


HUBERT^S WIFE, 


49 


way, shape, or manner with the Catholic missionaries. 
You might just as well compare us to the heathen who 
worship idols/^ 

Mr. Chase continued, a little more mildly than 
before : 

The question is not, my dear Doctor, a comparison 
between your religion and theirs. I understand very 
little indeed about their religion. But their object and 
yours is the same ; by every means in your power to 
induce souls ignorant of the Saviour to believe and 
aecept the truths you hold out ; this is your mission, 
and this is theirs. You come with your families, you 
make a home — you stay there — waiting for the heathen 
to come to you ; your wife is nervous, she likes not the 
uncouth looks and ways of your barbarians ; she is neat 
and she does not like her white floor to be soiled by the 
dirty feet of your savages. Nervous, neat, and timid 
herself, she meets their gaze anything but smilingly — 
even savages are human, and know well enough how 
to take a hint, Her involuntary dislike is returned 
with interest, and her husband’s influence and useful- 
ness is at an end, even before being established.’^ 

You judge us harshly,” complained Dr, Adams, 
glancing at the dissatisfied countenances of his younger 
friends, some missionaries have most excellent wives.” 

Do not Understand me as saying one word against 
any missionary’s wife ; far be it from mei As A class, 
I have no doubt they are most estimable* But Women 
are Women all the world over, and experience convinces 
me that In the place they occupy as wives of mission- 
aries they arc only greatly in the Way* Now the Roman 


50 


hubekt’s wife. 


Catholics — and I am no friend to their religion, as you 
very well know — as missionaries, are those only Avho 
have met with success. They attribute it to the grace 
of God following their efforts, in accordance with the 
divine promise, ^Go teach all nations, and lo, I am 
with you to the end of the world.^ I have visited their 
missions in every part of the world; in North and 
South America, in Africa, Europe, Asia, and many 
islands of the sea — and in fact this really did confound 
me, though I have been almost everywhere under the 
sun, these missionaries were already there, working 
away as for dear life — well, as I was saying, I have 
been in many a place where, to get the least comfort at 
all, I was compelled to put up with them; and, I 
always went away soothed, refreshed, and consoled. I 
assure you it is wonderful ; they go among the natives, 
and to a certain extent become one of them ; they win 
their confidence, treat them kindly, share with them 
food and drink, sleep in their houses and tents, and by 
and by insensibly have become their masters. Then 
how easy to teach them anything ! Now they couldn’t 
do this with troops of women and children along ; so 1 
came to the conclusion that their remarkable success in 
the conversion of heathen nations was to be attributed 
to the absence of these hindering appendages.” 

But you must have found nuns as missionaries in 
some places.” 

You know they are invisible to us profane people. 
They do have charge of schools in some missions — but 
then, cannot you perceive that a dozen of nuns, inde- 
pendent and self-supporting, is a very different instil 


Hubert’s wife. 


51 


tution from a dozen of married women and half a dozen 
dozen small responsibilities ? ” 

The Doctor laughed good-humoredly. 

You stick to your point like the bark to a tree/’ 
he said. ^^What do you say, young gentlemen,” 
addressing his silent, but ill-pleased guests, arc you 
convinced that you have made a blunder, and are you 
ready to set about retrieving it ? ” 

St. Leger answered, with a voice that slightly trem- 
bled with indignation : 

I am convinced. Dr. Adams, that the learned gen- 
tleman who is so conversant with the subject of mis- 
sions, should seek and find his true and proper position 
in the bosom of those successful idolaters he so greatly 
admires.” 

^^Why, you take it to heart,” said the Doctor. 

Had you known Mr. Chase as long and well as I 
have, you would make a different estimate of his re- 
marks ; ” and he turned the subject, for, in truth, he 
was not at all pleased with these plainly spoken views, 
deeming them entirely uncalled for and inapropos. He 
hastened to call out the distinguished traveler upon a 
less distasteful theme. 



CHAPTER VIII. 



THE VISITATION — BY SPIRIT AND BY DEATH. 

pEN Philip retired to liis room that night 
he was surprised to find his wife still awake. 

What a wonderful man that is who has 
been entertaining you this evening/^ she said. 

Wonderful fool ! ejaculated the pioua missionary, 
whose disturbed temper had not yet become altogether 
serene. 

Della was quite thrown back by so unwonted an 
exclamation, and remained silent. At length Philip 
said : 

What do you know about him ? where have you 
seen him ? haven’t you spent the whole evening in this 
room ? ” 

Yes, but the windows open upon the court ; I have 
heard every word.” 

And heard no good of yourself, cither,” remarked 
Philip, snappishly* 

Her husband \vas in so UnUsual a mood that Della 
hesitated about entering Upon the conversation she had 
intended. She was impulsive, however, and did not 
like to wait. 

Philip, I want to say something,” said she^ gently. 

^^Well, sa>^ away,” was his ungracious permission. 


HUBERT^S WIFE. 


53 


I thought you had sometliing to say/^ he said again, 
more gently, as Della remained silent. 

It was only this : I had been thinking the same 
thing,^^ she said, almost in a whisper. 

Now Philip knew very well what his wife meant. 
He, too, had thought the same thing. But he pre- 
tended to be in the dark, and abruptly demanded : 

The same what thing ? AVhy must you speak so 
enigmatically ? 

O, Philip, you could have done so much more and 
better without me. I have done nothing, and have 
hindered you.^^ 

^^And what are you going to do about it?^^ said 
Philip, coldly. 

Why, Philip, what is the matter with you? How 
strangely you answer me ! cried Della, excitedly. 

Never mind me now, Della* I am not myself 
to-night ; go to sleep.^^ 

Truly, thought Della, he is not himself ; so she pru- 
dently resolved to defer her something to say to a 
more favorable season. 

For the next eight or nine hours Philipps mind was 
in a whirlpool. While a student at Princeton, the lec- 
tures of Cardinal Wiseman had chanced to fall in his 
w^ay. He read them with avidity, particularly those 
On the Practical Success of the Protestant Rule of 
Faith in Converting Pleathen Nations, and On the 
Practical Success of the Catholic Rule of Faith in Con- 
verting Heathen Nations.^^ They left upon his mind 
unpleasant impressions, and created doubts and misgiv- 
ings which his tutors could with difficulty dispel. But 
5 * 


64 


HUBERTS WIFE, 


he shut his eyes, blinded his mind, and allowed the 
hour of his visitation to pass by. Now, the words of 
this Mr. Chase, a stray traveler, roaming through the 
world without aim or object, so far as known, had 
aroused this slumbering phantom of the past, and pro- 
voked, if not challenged, him anew. He recalled the 
story of Catholic missions that had read to liiin like a 
continuation of Apostolic labors; statistics, gathered 
altogether from Protestant sources, showed them to be 
overwhelmingly successful; the gift of miracles and 
the gifts of the Holy Ghost had descended upon them, 
and crowns of martyrdom numerous and shining. He 
had even thought with a thrill that had he never met 
Della it would be glorious to join this lion-hearted 
band, whose symbol was the ever-upborne Cross ! 
But there had avalanched down upon this temporary 
glow such a storm of ridicule against Transubstantia- 
tion, worship of the Blessed Virgin and of dead men^s 
bones and cast-off garments, and the putrified corrup- 
tions of the Man of Sin generally, that the one gener- 
ous, struggling spark was extinguished. Of the great 
Protestant Foreign Missionary Society, for which so 
much money had been expended, so many millions of 
Bibles distributed, so many glowing reports printed, 
Philip St. Leger was now a part, knew all its ins and 
outs — alas ! its outs. 

This was the reason Mr. Chasers remarks had so 
fretted him : because of the truth which he was unwill- 
ing to receive. To himself this young missionary had 
admitted long before that a married man was too much 
cumbered for his undertaking. At the same time he 


hubeet’s wife. 


55 


mentally insisted that in that foreign land life without 
his wife would be to him intolerable. It was truly dis- 
tressing and discouraging that five years had passed by 
with but the most trifling results. He thought, and 
not for the first time, that were he settled in the far- 
away, quiet village of Newberg, his life might not pass 
away so unprofitably. But he had put his hand to the 
plough ; should he now turn back ? 

The dissatisfied missionary passed a sleepless night ; 
he murmured and repined; he was not willing to ascribe 
praise to his Roman Catholic brethren, nor to admit 
their right to claim the promise of our Lord to be with 
them unto the end. The result was that he resisted 
the spirit, and allowed this second visitation to pass by, 
leaving him more self-determined than before. There- 
fore, with the dawn of day, he resolutely dismissed the 
subject, with emphasis asserting : I am a Protestant ; 
I will live and work with my Protestant brethren. 
We must admit nothing on the part of our adversaries ; 
we must make our claims as bold as theirs.^^ 

When, therefore, a few days after, Della renewed the 
subject, he was prepared to quiet her scruples. 

^^And is their success, then, so really wonderful as 
this gentleman declares she inquired. 

Not at all. Doubtless In many places they do gain 
a temporary success, but this is* easily accounted for. 
The Catholic religion lies In outward observances. 
They have so much show and ceremony that the ignor- 
ant native is necessarily attracted. The dress, altar, 
lights, bell, all have their part in alluring the curious. 
They think there must be some great mystery connected 


56 


HUBERT^S AVIFE, 


Avith SO much paraphernalia. They are naturally AvilU 
ing to be let into the secret. But there is nothing in 
it at all to convert the heart or convince the under- 
standing. When these useless accessories are removed, 
the converted heathen, as he is called, relapses into 
barbarism/^ 

It has seemed to me, though, Philip, that if Ave had 
only something in our service to attract the attention, 
Ave Avould have a great advantage ; that is the first and 
principal thing to get people together. By having 
something to Avin their curiosity, a great point is gained. 
Giving them a Bible is like giving them a stone for 
bread — they can make nothing out of it,^^ said Della, 
decidedly, 

^^But Avhen they have the teachings of the Bible 
once thoroughly impressed upon their minds, does it 
not stand to reason they would be better and more per- 
severing Christians ? asked Philip, 

^^Very likely. But the difficulty is to make this 
impression. We tell the heathen, man, Avoman, or 
child, that Christ died on the Cross to redeem us. 
Would he not lend us more earnest attention if Ave 
illustrated our instruction by exhibiting to him an 
image of the Cross and the Crucified — in short, if Ave 
taught him, as did the ancients, the Avhole story of 
Redemption, and the establishment of the Church, by 
series of pictures and images ? 

What is the use of going back thousands of years 
ago Avhen Ave are living in the nineteenth century? 
Why not make use of the art of printing since Ave 
have it?'' 


HUBERT'S WIFE. 


57 


Certainly, wherein it is of advantage. But the 
majority of those whom the missionary seeks to instruct 
are beyond the reach of that admirable art. Letters 
have for them no meaning ; books are for them only to 
look at ; and with a picture the eye is instructed and 
more pleased.^' 

Let us send to Borne for a cart-load of Madonnas, 
crucifixes, beads, and all the et ceteras for satisfying 
and perpetuating superstition and ignorance,^^ said 
Philip, sarcastically. 

Della was sensitive to ridicule and remained silent. 
Her husband continued : 

Or, since you deem yourself a supernumerary in 
your present vocation, suppose you allow me to pack 
you off in the return-cart to the Eternal City, that is 
said to sit over the mouth of II Inferno. You may 
kiss the toe of his Holiness, and humbly ask penance 
for the rest of your mortal life for having presumed to 
be a Protestant missionary's wife, and carried the Bible 
to the dying heathen." 

^^The subject is too serious for any such nonsense," 
remarked the wife, gravely. The question is how to 
convert the heathen. It seems to me the true mission- 
ary of the Cross should not be above receiving prudent 
suggestions from whatever source; more particularly 
ourselves, who are inexperienced in the work." 

You are right, Della, as you always are," replied 
the husband, more sincerely. I have been revolving 
the subject over, and have come to a firm resolution to 
turn over a new leaf on our return to the mission. If 
Mrs. Fisher were not so peevish and Mrs. Dodd so dis- 


58 


Hubert’s wife. 


tressingly particular, we could get along better in the 
kitchen ; the native girls would do better, and improve. 
If you were to oversee that department, I think there 
would be a change greatly for the better. The truth 
is, I believe those women are afraid of being poisoned. 
They ought to give their time in the school. If they 
tried to make it interesting there would be a better 
attendance. It is all nonsense to spend one’s whole 
time in getting up dainty dishes, and recherche toilets 
for one’s babies. At all events we must arouse our- 
selves from this slough of indifference and give our best 
energies to the work. We have not made half a trial 
yet. How can we expect success to follow aught but 
energetic effort?” 

Distance lent enchantment. Now that the mission- 
aries were hundreds of miles away, the labors of the 
mission seemed easy of accomplishment, and the daily, 
hourly difficulties and hindrances dwindled into insig- 
nificance. 

Scarcely a month later and Philip St. Leger bent in 
thankfulness over a little daughter, which the doctor 
said might live. 

We will call her Della,” said Philip to his wife. 

Not Della, but Althea. I give her to God, Philip. 
May she do for Him what I have not been able.” 

Philip had turned to his wife that he might the bet- 
ter catch her feeble whispers. O, the dread that rushed 
through his heart ! A ghastly pallor was spread over 
the face, a convulsive spasm distorted for a moment the 
sweet mouth. 

I am going — O, Philip,” she said, wildly, and ere 
he had time to call on God for mercy she was gone. 


Hubert’s wife. 


59 


Good God, doctor, is she really dead ? ’’ cried 
Philip, as soon as he could speak to the physician upon 
the opposite side, whose fingers now let fall the pulse- 
less wrist. 

All is over,” answered the physician, sadly. 

Why did you not call me sooner if you saw the 
danger? How dared you not inform me at pnce?” 
demanded Philip). 

Pray be quiet, my dear sir. It was very sudden — 
entirely unanticipated — although I had been suspecting 
disease of the heart. Her lungs were a good deal 
affected, but her heart I think the immediate cause of 
her death. Otherwise, she was doing nicely, bravely, 
better than could be expected. You have met with a 
great loss, sir — a wonderful loss — your wife was a noble 
woman. God help you ! ” 

Della St. Leger was buried by the side of the first 
and third Mrs. Adams, the second having been buried 
on an island in the sea. The latter had been a South- 
ern lady, and had brought with her a colored woman, 
at that time her slave. This person, Minerva by name, 
remained still an invaluable member of Dr. Adams’ 
household. To her care the little motherless Althea 
was entrusted ; and Philip St. Leger, with what heart 
may be imagined, went back alone to his dreary mission. 



CHAPTER IX. 

THE KEW CHOICE. 

E have given a more thorough retrospeet 
of the missionary's antecedents than did he 
to his friend on that memorable night at 
Kennons. But the gleam of his flashing 
eye, and the glow of the sparkling flame into which 
he gazed was like flint to flint ; and to us was it given 
mysteriously to read the fiery flashes thus revealed. 

From the death of Della, he went on to inform his 
brother-in-law that he had brought back his child in 
care of the faithful Minerva, whom he had left with 
his younger sister for the present. He did not tell him 
that the real object of his present visit to America was 
to take to himself a wife for the second time. This, how- 
ever, he might, have told, had he not found his friend 
iwi such affliction, as that any news of this kind must 
have grated upon him harshly. 

Indeed, several months previously he had written to 
the principal of the Seminary for her to select a suita- 
ble young lady for his future wife. This was not the 
first time her offices had been solicited in this line; but 
she was an elderly lady, sensible and practical, and 
naturally thought that a missionary’s second wife should 
be distinguished for something more than youth and 
beauty. 




HUBERT^S WIFE. 


61 


Accordingly, when, upon Philip’s arrival in his 
native city, he had visited his friends, and disposed of 
his daughter, he called upon Madame X — , she presented 
to him her choice for Mrs. St. Leger, in the person of 
Miss Arethusa Toothaker, the eldest, tallest, most sedate 
young lady of her establishment. 

Miss Toothaker was of an uncertain age, though she 
called herself twenty-seven — was tall, as we have said, 
and slender, had a long, narrow head, which she carried 
on a neck too long, had very red cheeks, small snapping 
black eyes, very thin hair, of which she wore in front 
two very meagre curls done in cork-screw style, held 
her broad shoulders high, as if vainly striving to get 
them far as possible from her long, ant-like waist — 
well, this is enough, for at the very first glance Philip 
St. Leger turned away his eyes and closed his heart. 

Upon taking his leave Philip informed Madame 
that Miss Toothaker would not do. 

Madame was surprised ; She would make a worthy 
companion,” insisted the principal, and the dream of 
her life has been to become the wife of a missionary.” 

The missionary smiled— ho would not disturb her 
dreams for the world — but would Madame X — allow 
him to be present at the morning exercises of the school 
some day ? ” 

Certainly, any morning you please — to-morrow, if 
agreeable, you can open school with prayer and address 
some useful remarks to the young ladies.” 

On the following morning was great commotion in 
the ranks of the young ladies. The handsome, dis- 
tinguished foreign missionary was to open school. At 
G 


62 


Hubert’s wife. 


the let us pray/’ a hundred young heads rested upon 
the upraised right hand; but it is to be feared that 
authorized devotional attitude was sadly infringed 
upon, for, when he pronounced Amen ” sooner than 
was anticipated, he encountered so many bright admir- 
ing eyes that a less self-possessed person than Philip 
might have been abashed. As our hero had studied 
his speech, however, he was able to commence and go 
through without the slightest embarrassment. His 
keen eye swept the array of youth and beauty before 
him, and so quick was he in arriving at conclusions, 
his choice was made before his remarks were ended. 

A person of less penetration might have chosen 
many another than Emily Dean. There were several 
among her compeers of more beauty and brilliance. 
But Philip St. Leger was a good judge of character ; 
he had but to look upon a face to read the heart. He 
had loved Della Lisle from hearing her voice, and from 
one glance at her countenance. Emily Dean wore her 
hair, like hers also in color and abundance, as had Della. 
In this only was resemblance, unless in a certain pen- 
siveness of expression and pose of attitude. 

Madame X — was again surprised, when, in the after- 
noon of the same day, the missionary asked for an inter- 
view with the young lady who had occuj;)led the fifth 
seat on the right hand side of the third row, who wore 
lier hair somewhat like a crown, and was dressed in 
pale blue.” 

Ah ! Emily Dean— a very fine girl — but is she not 
too young — hardly nineteen ? ” 

myself am not a Methuselah,” remarked the 


IIUBERT^S WIFE. 


G3 

missionary, somewhat piqued that although but thirty- 
one, he should be esteemed too unsuitably old for even 
the youngest of Madame X — ^s pupils. 

^^Of course — O certainly — of course — I beg your 
pardon,’^ said the lady hastily, but a missionary's 
wife, you know — there is much to be considered.^’ 

Philip, evidently bent upon doing his own consider- 
ing, pursued his inquiries, and gained the interview. 
He proposed to the young lady in presence of the prin- 
cipal, and in so very business-like a way as convinced 
both the elder and the younger that there was more 
practicability beneath that poetical exterior, than the 
latter would have suggested or warranted them in 
believing. 

Philip was not long in discovering Emily Dean to 
be the eldest child of an independent farmer in Western 
New York. She had four sisters and three brothers 
younger than herself. With such a family, the father 
can more easily part with this daughter,” thought 
Philip ; and he started off on the next train to visit 
the family of the Deans. 

Emily he found to be a favorite in the household. 
His proposition to take her with him ^^away to the bar- 
barous Turk” was received with consternation and tears. 
The more, that it was felt, from the first, that if she 
wished it they should have to give her up. 

The enthusiastic suitor proposed the father should at 
once go for his daughter and conduct her home. To 
all objections and demurrers as to haste and postpone- 
ment Philip had a ready and eloquent answer. There 
was no gain-saying this ardent pleader* 


64 


Hubert’s wife. 


The farmer left his host of potato-gatherers and apple- 
pickers and went off on the express. In twenty-four 
hours he returned with his daughter. Philip would 
liave giv'en no time for preparations — but in this he was 
forced to yield. 

The parents insisted their eldest daughter should 
have a wedding trousseau — it was not meet she should 
set out on so long a voyage, across the ocean of water, 
and the ocean of married life, in the condition of Miss 
Flora McFlimsey . So Philip St. Leger took this interval 
of time for his flying trip to his brother-in-law in Vir- 
ginia, 

But he found, as we have seen, the gloom of death 
spread over Kennons. Had he needed aught to con- 
vince him anew of the evanescent nature of all beneath 
the sun, he found it here. It was indeed painful to 
contrast the joy and happiness of this Southern home 
of little more than six years ago, and the present deso- 
lation. In that joy he had shared— in this gloom was 
liis own heart wrung. In the moment of mournful 
silence that followed his long discourse and Duncan’s, 
life seemed to him not worth the living, and rising from 
his chair he said, with marked emphasis : 

Duncan, my friend, Ave are but travelers of a day. 
Our life, like that fire, goes out in ashes. The night 
comes, and we sleep. Do we rise again ? Does this 
corruption put on incorruption— -this mortal put on 
immortality? O, could I hear a voice from Heaven 
say unto me ^ Yes, 1 should be comforted I ” 

Why, Philip I HaVe you, too, doubts ? God 
Almighty help us, when the faith of His ministers fal- 
ters 


IIUBERT^S WIFE. 


65 


Bear with me now, Duncan ; the darkness in my 
soul is deep and terrible to-night ; death and the grave 
seem the only sure certainties we have in this world. 
Morning may bring me right again, if another morn- 
ing remain for me. Let us sleep — and good night ! ’’ 

The friends separated — and Duncan pondered on the 
missionary’s last words. They seemed prophetic ; and 
he almost expected, when he sent Grandisoii to his room 
on the following morning, to see that servant return 
with direful news. Not so. Philip appeared about 
ten o’clock, declaring he had slept well, and felt much 
refreshed. He remained for several days at Kennons, 
during which time the grave of Ellice was opened, and 
a tiny coffin let down upon her own ; mother and child 
were re-united ; and as Philip offered a prayer over the 
fresh-thrown earth, a ray of stronger faith enkindled 
his heart. Philip talked of his own little girl to Dun- 
can Lisle : 

“ I had intended leaving her with my sister Estelle, 
who was my favorite. She was much attached to 
Della,” said Philip ; But I found Estelle’s husband 
does not like children ; besides, she has three of her 
own, the eldest but a baby, and twins younger. Leo- 
nora is well married, but devoted to society, has no 
children of her own, and no idea of being troubled with 
other people’s. I could not leave her with my mother, 
even though she had not been an invalid. My only 
resource Avas to entrust her with Juliet, Avho was but 
recently married, and who, with her husband, received 
the child delightedly. I do not feel at all satisfied Avith 
the arrangement, but it Avas the best I could do. Juliet 
6 * 


66 


IIUBERrS WIFE, 


is good-hearted, over-affectionate, and will be kind to 
the child ; but she is rather simple-minded, frivolous, 
and variable. Her husband is a kind, sensible man, 
but he was raised a Roman Catholic. Juliet tells me 
that he is not much of anything now; but I doubt it, 
for he insisted on being married by the priest, before 
the ceremony at St. Mark’s ; and then again, the idea 
of one who has been raised a Catholic ever being any- 
thing else hut a Catholic. It is preposterous. I have 
charged Juliet to see that no influence is ever brought 
to bear upon the mind of my child as she advances in 
years — but I have still grave fears. Possibly the time 
may come when you can remove her to Kennons, say, 
for a year or so, at a time ; it would be a source of 
pleasure to me to have Althea beneath the roof under 
which her excellent mother was reared.” 

Duncan but too gladly promised to keep an over- 
sight of the child ; he would occasionally visit her dur- 
ing her infancy, and his home should ever be open to 
her; had Ellice lived she should have known no other. 

The friends, newly attached, took sad leave of each 
other. Duncan leaned upon the gate, and watched the 
other as he rode slowly through the lane. Had the 
feet of the horse been mounting stairs that led upward 
to the skies, Duncan would not have felt more sure that 
Philip was passing forever from his view. 

Traveling, he one way, I another, yet both to the 
same goal — eternity,” mused Duncan. 

As he spoke, a carriage came in view, hiding the 
retreating traveler. He discerned at a glance that the 
carriage, drawn by fiery, coal-black steeds, was that of 


Hubert’s wife. 


67 


Mrs. Rush. He remained by the gate until the driver 
drew rein, and the bright, glowing face of the lady put 
itself out of the window. 

So, Mr. Lisle, your friend has already gone. I had 
no idea he was going so soon. I am so sorry. I was 
going to have had you over to dinner to-day. As it is, 
you can come, Mr. Lisle, — you and Hubert.” 

Duncan Lisle pleaded indisposition, and politely 
declined. 

But what are you going to do ? House yourself 
up and mope yourself to death ? ” persevered the hand- 
some widow. I know how it is, and that you must 
feel a disinclination to society ; but one must make an 
effort, you know. Come, I will take you right over in 
iny carriage ; there is plenty of room. Come, Hubert, 
come, jump in; ” and the little boy, very willing, sprang 
up to the side of the carriage. His father went to assist 
him. 

Hubert may go, but, really, I cannot, Mrs. Rush. 
You must excuse me. Another time, perhaps.” 

But I don’t excuse you, Mr. Lisle. I am so dis- 
appointed You know what a splendid cook my Dinah 
is, and I ordered her to do her best. But then I sup- 
pose if you won’t, you won’t, and there’s an end of it ; 
is that so?” 

That is so, Madam,” and touching his hat grace- 
fully, he bade her an inaudible good-morning,” and 
turned away. 

Mrs. Rush ordered Washington' her coachman, to 
drive home. She was disappointed and chagrined, but 
not discouraged. She was vain as a peacock or Queen 


68 


Hubert’s wife. 


Elizabeth. Like another Dorcasina^ she fancied every 
man to be her inamorata. She had never abandoned 
the idea that Duncan Lisle had been once in love with 
her. She had been encouraged in this delusion by the 
duplicity of her servants, who, to propitiate her favor, 
had been in the habit of repeating false expressions of 
his admiration and regard. 

If all reports are true, he thinks more of you this 
day than he does of Miss Ellice,” said one. 

Everybody knows that Duncan Lisle worships the 
ground you tread on, and always did. Miss Ellice 
happened to come along and j ust inveigled him, that is 
all ; he is sorry enough, you may ’pend,” falsified 
another. 

He always was talking about how mighty han’some 
you was, and what beautiful eyes you had,” declared a 
third, and so it went, and credulous Mrs. Rush laid tlic 
flattering unction to her soul that she was the one 
woman in the world for Duncan Lisle. 

It is only for looks’ sake ; he wanted to come bad 
enough, you may bet on that,” said Dinah to her mis- 
tress, when informed that she had got up her great din- 
ner for nobody but little Master Hubert. 

As to Hubert, after he was through with his good 
dinner, he had anything but a pleasant visit. Thorn- 
ton Rush — his name was Jude Thornton Rush — was a 
few months older than Hubert. He possessed the 
beauty of his mother, with the dark, hidden nature of 
his father. He was stubborn, morose, and quarrelsome. 
He abounded in bad qualities, but if there was one 
which excelled another, it was cunning and duplicity. 


Hubert’s wife. 


69 


These were so combined as really to form but one. 
Had he been a man and termed JesuiliGoly in the Prot- 
estant sense, that term would have aptly described him. 
Now Hubert was not perfect more than other children, 
but, compared to Thornton Rush, he was a little saint. 
His organ of combativeness frequently waged stern 
conflicts with his bump of reverence. His sense of 
right was keen as his sensitiveness against wrong and 
falsehood. Ho was, like his mother, frank and open as 
the day, generous, disinterested, and unselfish. 

What should happen, then, when these two natures 
came together ? What but thunder and lightning, as 
when two clouds meet? 

Duncan Lisle thought about this as he saw his boy 
borne away from him, and he resolved to go over for 
him very soon after dinner. He arrived just in time 
to rescue him, bruised and bleeding, from the fists and 
fury of Thornton Rush. The quarrel had commenced 
in this way : Thornton had asserted that everything 
at Thornton Hall was his; Hubert had nothing. 
Hubert admitted as much, insisting, however, that all 
at Kennons was his. 

No such thing,” denied Thornton. Everything 
at Kennons is your father’s ; you have nothing.” 

Well,” said the other, ^^so everything at Thornton 
Hall is your mother’s, and not yours.” 

^^No such thing. I am the master of Thornton 
Hall. My father is dead, sir.” 

Yes, I know that.” 

You know that ! And is that all you can say ? 
Say that I am master of Thornton Hall, and that you 


70 Hubert’s wife. 

are nobody but Hubert Lisle/’ said Thornton, intent 
upon a quarrel. 

I shall say no such thing.” 

^^But you will, sir, and I can make you. I am 
stronger than you are, and I have bigger fists. Look 
liere, aren’t you afraid ? ” shaking his clenched fist in 
the other’s face. 

No, I am not afraid,” spoke Hubert boldly, striving 
to grapple with his stronger foe. 

So engaged were the boys, they heard not the 
approach of Mr. Lisle, till, having dismounted from 
his horse, he seized Thornton by the collar and flung 
him afar, as he would have done a wild cat. 

Mrs. Rush, who had seen the whole from the window, 
and enjoyed it immensely, now thought it worth while 
to come upon the scene. 

^MVhat does all this mean?” as if just surprised. 

Thornton Rush, you will be punished for this. Have 
you no better manners than to treat your young visitor 
in that way ? Really, Mr. Lisle, I am truly distressed, 
and offer you a thousand apologies. Please do not 
take Hubert home in that condition ; bring him to the 
kitchen and let Dinah bathe his face and hands. How 
unfortunate this should have occurred ! ” 

Mr. Lisle complied, and waited until his boy was 
brought to him in a more presentable condition ; then 
he went away, very wroth indeed in heart, but out- 
wardly calm and composed. 



CHAPTER X. 

DREAM AVIIICH WAS NOT ALL A DREAM/’ 

3 tlic missionary journeyed northward, his 
mind emerged from the gloom cf the last 
few days. It naturally turned upon the 
young girl who was so soon to become his 
bride, and in this connection life began again to assume 
its rose-tints of old, and he was led to wonder how 
it was he had so given way to grief and sadness. In 
recalling the trials and disadvantages to which his 
young bride would be exposed at the mission, a bright 
thought occurred to him. An American housekeeper 
would be invaluable, and Miss Toothaker arose before 
him. She would no doubt prove an excellent manager, 
and she was so unprepossessing in every way, she 
would be unlikely to be appropriated by any widowed 
missionary. It has been seen already that for Philip 
St. Legcr to think and to act were l)ut quick, con- 
secutive steps; it was so in this case. Upon his 

return to Troy he called upon Madame X and 

explained his wishes. Miss Toothaker was consulted, 
and accepted his proposition at once ; she would be 
on missionary ground at all events. True, she was 
conditionally engaged to marry a Mr. Freeman Clarke, 



72 


hubeet’s wife. 


who was an itinerant preacher. She had insisted that 
he should become a missionary. He had consented to 
go as missionary to the Western frontiers. This did 
not meet Miss Toothaker^s views ; foreign missionary 
or nothing. Mr. Clarke’s conscience did not send him 
to any Boorlooboolah Gha, he said. 

The engagement had been for some time In this state 
of contention, when the proposal of going to Turkey 
as assistant ” put an end to it. 

Miss Arethusa retired to her room triumphantly, and 
exultingly wrote to her lover the facts in the case — 
except that she left him to infer that she was going to 
Turkey, as she had always wished, a missionary’s wife. 

Now that Mr. Freeman Clarke’s blessing had taken 
its flight,” it all at once assumed that brightness of 
which the poet speaks. He would have argued and 
urged, even consented to have gone to the ends of the 
earth, but he saw from his lady’s letter it was too late. 
He solaced himself somewhat by replying to her dolor- 
ously, hoping that she might perceive his heart was 
broken and be sorry. He closed loftily by saying: 

You advise me, my dear Arethusa — allow me to call 
you thus for the last time — to find a heart worthier and 
better. It was unkind in you to urge upon me an 
impossibility. None but Napoleon ever scorned the 
word impossible.” 

Whether Mr. Freeman Clarke derived his inspiration 
for the itineracy from his lady-love is not for us to 
decide ; this much is certain : from the day the 
Atlantic” sailed for the Old World with Miss Tooth- 
aker on board his zeal flagged, and soon gave out 


HUBEET^S WIFE, 


73 


altogether. His love for souls settled down upon one 
Annette Jones, the plain daughter of a plain farmer, 
whom he married, and lived happily enough with upon 
a small, rocky farm in the State of Vermont. In times 
of ^^revival,^^ he became an exhorter,^^ and very fer- 
vent in prayer. Upon one occasion he soared to such 
a pitch as to cry out frantically : O Lord, come down 
upon us now, come down now through the roof, and 1 
will pay for the shingles 

There were two or three people present who thought 
such an address to the Supreme Being blasphemous and 
frightful, but the rest of the crowd cried, ^^Amen/^ 

In due time our missionaries found themselves at the 
house of Dr, Adams. The doctor was rejoiced to have 
back Minerva again, for he declared nothing had gone 
on rightly since her departure. 

Although Philip was well pleased with his second 
wife, he forgot not his first. On the evening of his 
arrival he went out to visit her grave. As he stood 
there mournful and silent,’ a light step approached, and 
Emily^s hand clasped his own. 

Is it her grave ? she asked softly. 

Yes. You would not have me quite forget Della^ 
Would you ? he asked, doubtfully. 

O, no, but I would remember her With you. I 
Would stand here by her grave With you, and offer up 
my prayers with yours that she may look down upon 
us in love and blessing. I Would not seek to drive her 
memory from your heart, 1 do not consider that I 
have usurped her place, I Would haVe a place along- 

* A fact.' 

7 


74 


Hubert’s wife. 


side of hers — if I am worthy, Philip.” She added the 
last words in a whisper, and doubtingly. 

For the first time Philip perceived what a treasure 
he had won, and how worthy a successor to his first 
love. He looked down in her tearful eyes lovingly. 

Della in heaven and Emily on earth — as one I lovo 
you,” he said, fervently. 

On the following day Philip took his bride out to 
view the wonders of the city. They invited Miss 
Toothaker to accompany them, but were by no means 
regretful that she declined. They little dreamed what 
was going on in their absence. Suffice to say, when, 
after a few days of rest, they began to make ready for 
departure, their assistant” displayed not her accus- 
tomed zeal and alacrity. This was accounted for on 
the last morning of their stay. 

Without warning or preliminaries, immediately after 
prayers, in fact, upon rising from his knees, Dr. Adams 
walked up to the blushing Miss Toothaker, and taking 
her happy hand, led her to the far end of the room, 
placing himself and her in position. 

Before you leave, Mr. St. Leger, you will, if you 
please, do us the favor (bowing low and smiling 
mellifluously) you see how it is, sir, and what we wish 
of you.” I The Doctor stammered, and was bashful, 
although such a veteran in the service. 

The bride elect held her head very erect ; the red 
spots in her cheeks glowed like double peonies ; her 
two thin curls, done in oil for the occasion, hung straight 
and stiff* like pendant icicles nigrescent; her sparkling 
black eyes looked apparently into vacuity, while they 


IIUBERT^S WIFE. 


75 


were really beholding the acme of all her hopes. She 
was thinking in that supreme moment of her life how 
very providential it was that she had thrown overboard 
Mr. Freeman Clarke. Whether he was picked up or 
whether the sharks devoured him, it occurred not to 
her to care. That she was about to become the fourth 
wife of the Rev. Dr. Adams, foreign missionary at the 
Capitol city of Turkey, was sufficient glory ; she could 
have afforded to quench the hopes, and tread upon the 
hearts of a dozen such as that itinerant preacher. She 
had reserved herself for a grand calling, her life would 
be written in a book, and her name too, along Avith 
the Judsons, the Newells, the Deans, would inspire 
Sunday school scholars with zeal for missionary life 
unto the end of time. 

But we are keeping them waiting. 

Philip, always master of the situation, choked doAvn 
his indignation and spoke the words, for better — for 
worse.’^ His prayer was brief and dry, without one 
bit of heart or spirit, but maybe it answered the purpose. 

The Doctor, after the tying of the knot, did conde- 
scend to thank Philip for IiLs kindness in bringing him 
over a wife. Philip replied Avith truthfulness that he 
merited no thanks. • 

And after all, once started again upon tlieir inland 
journey, both Philip and his Avife regretted not the 
absence of Arethusa* They had endured her company 
for sake of the advantage she Avas to prove to them in 
the future; they now fully realized hoAv milch she had 
been in their Avay* 

Philip’s respect for the Doctor sensibly dirailiished. 


76 


Hubert’s wife. 


If he could endure Miss Arethusa for the the rest of 
liis life, his taste was abominable. De gustibus non dis- 
putandum cst ; with this familiar reflection, Philip 
turned to a subject more agreeable. 

Thus had Arethusa’s life-long dream of becoming a 
missionary’s wife proved neither illusive nor vain ; and 
she had dropped the Toothaker, 





CHAPTER XT. 

ALTHEA^S GUAEDIANS. 

jjHE little Althea then^ who is our heroine, 
when we shall come to her, had been 
entrusted, somewhat unwillingly, to her 
aunt, Juliet St. Leger Temple ; Juliet 
never wTote her name only in full, as above. She was 
proud of her maiden name. St. Leger was romantic, 
high-sounding, aristocratic. Temple — well. Temple 
had been well enough in the early days of her court- 
ship. She thought she loved John Temple so very 
profoundly that she would have married him even if 
he went by Smith or Jones. She had read Charlotte 
Temple, and she knew people by that name of great 
respectability ; but since her marriage, she had discov- 
ered, on the same street with her, a family of Temples 
who were snobbish and vulgar. This put her out of 
conceit with her husband^s name. John Temple I so 
almost the same as James Temple, only a few squares 
below. Who was to distinguish her, Mrs. Juliet St. 
Leger Temple, from the fat, dowdyish, over-dressed, 
gaudy Mrs. Temple, who wore a wig, and whose eyes 
squinted ? Who, she questioned, when both went by 
the name of Mrs. J. Temple, of M— - street ? Her 
7 * 




78 


Hubert’s wife. 


early married life was clouded by this one grievance. 
She had still another ; her husband was a Roman Cath- 
olic, and would not go with her to St. Mark’s Church. 
True, she had known him to be a Catholic when she 
married him ; but she had not known or dreamed that 
these Catholics were so set and obstinate in their religion. 
He had been so reticent upon the subject that she had 
supposed him quite indifferent. Once married, she 
could convert him ; O, that would be a very easy mat- 
ter. He need go to St. Mark’s but once to be so 
delighted that he would wish to go there ever after. 
She had consented to be married first by the priest in 
order that John Temple might see the delightful dif- 
ference between being married by Father Duffy at low 
Mass in the early morning, while fashionables were 
still folding their hands in slumber, and being married 
five hours after by the elegant Dr. Browne, assisted by 
the Rev. Drs. Knickerbocker and Breck — with a bril- 
liant group of bridesmaids and groomsmen, and only 
the very elite of fashion, full-dressed and perfumed, in 
attendance. 

I hope he will be captivated now ; and that here 
will ooze out the last gasp of his love for the religion 
of St. Patrick,” the young bride had said mentally. 

But neither Dr. Browne, nor his beaming assistants, 
nor all the splendor of St. Mark’s made upon John 
Temple the least apparent impression. 

The Sunday following the marriage witnessed quite 
a contention. 

And you say this positively, John, that you will 
not go with mo to St. Mark’s, and on the very first 
Suiulay, too?” cried Juliet, incredulous. 


Hubert’s wife. 


79 


I have told you all along that I would not go to 
your church/’ replied John. 

‘^But what possible harm could there be in your 
going just this once? Any other man in the world 
would be proud to go with me in all my beautiful 
bridal array. I assure you there is not another ward- 
robe in the city so recherche as mine. You yourself 
said you never saw such a love of a hat, and my point- 
lace might be the pride of a princess. But, John, if 
you would only go, I would be more proud of you than 
even anything and all of my elegant dress. Now, 
John, dear, please say yes,” and she laid her hand on 
his arm, and looked up, as she vainly hoped, irresisti- 
bly in his face. 

But John shook off her hand impatiently, not deign- 
ing even to respond to her look. 

Silence gives consent, and you will go,” she said. 

Have I not told you once, twice, and thrice that I 
cannot go with you ? ” 

John, but I did not think you in such terrible 
earnest, and you are not, I am sure. I thought you 
loved me so well you would do anything to please me. 
Come now, just this once, this first Sunday after our 
marriage. Think how it will look, and what will 
people say to see me walk into church all alone — and 
our pew is far up in front ? ” 

Is it for the looks of the thing and for what people 
will say that you go to church?” asked the husband, 
gravely. 

No, of course not ; but then we must have some 
regard for the speech of people, and how it will look 


80 


Hubert’s wife. 


for you to go off to one church and your wite to 
another.” 

Would you care to go with me, Juliet?” 

With you ? To St. Patrick’s ? AVith all the 
Bridgets and Pats and Mikes of the city ? Do you 
think I could stoop so low? O, John Temple, you 
insult me ! ” and the young wife burst into indignant 
tears. 

John hurried to her with his handkerchief to wipe 
her eyes. She thrust it away, declaring there was 
something about a gentleman’s handkerchief that made 
it abominable. 

^^AVell, don’t cry, dear,” urged John, soothingly. 

^^It’s all the comfort left me,” sobbed Juliet. 

simply followed your example,” continued the 
husband. ^^You invited me to your church, and I 
invited you to mine, that, as you said, we might go 
together. I had no idea of urging you to go if it 
would be disagreeable to you.” 

There’s a vast difference. If you go to St. Mark’s 
you are among elegant people. Every one’s dress is in 
the height of fashion You see nothing low or vulgar. 
There is nothing to offend the • senses. The very 
thought of my going to St. Patrick’s ! ” and the lady 
cast up her eyes as if she were about to faint or to 
implore Heaven to save her from such a horror. 

But you associate in society with the McCaffreys, 
the Dempseys, and the Blakes, and many others of the 
congregation of St. Patrick.” 

O, well, they probably started up from nothing, 
and are used to it; they don’t know any difference. 


Hubert’s avife. 


81 


But for me — a St. Leger ! O, John, if you love me, 
don’t ever mention such a thing again ; and if you love 
me, John, a half or quarter as I love you, you Avill go 
with me to St, Mark’s. I Avill not go Avithout you, and 
I shall cry myself into a dreadful headache, and you 
can refuse me and see me suffer so when Ave’ve been 
married but five days ! O dear, dear, I thought I Avas 
going to marry a man Avho would love me so Avell ho 
Avould do everything in the world to please me, and 
now here it is ! ” and Juliet fairly shook Avith sobs. 

John Temple Avas a A^ery matter-of-fact man; quite 
the reverse of his Avife in every respect. The Avonder 
is hoAV such opposites became attracted. He under- 
stood very little of Avomen’s Avays, and became fearful 
that his young bride Avas on the borders of distraction. 
He felt himself justified in remaining absent from 
Mass, and as he persevered in his resolution of not 
accompanying Juliet to St. Mark’s, both remained at 
home, Avhere more of clouds than sunshine reigned. 

More than once during this scene John Temple Avas 
on the point of yielding. Where AA^as the harm after 
all? and it Avould be a pleasure to gratify Juliet, But 
he remembered the promise he had made to himself 
and his God, that, in marrying a Protestant Avife, he 
would still keep aloof from the Protestant Church. 
This promise kept him true. If once Avould have 
answered, he might have gone once ; but after that the 
battle Avould have to be fought over again ; the victory 
might be made complete in the beginning. 

The next day, Avhile Mr. Temple Avas at his place of 
business, Juliet, feeling herself very much injured, 


82 


Hubert’s wife. 


visited her rector, Dr. Browne. She told him the 
whole story in her tragic way, including the insulting 
proposal for her to go to St. Patrick’s. She wished 
Dr. Browne would contrive some way by which her 
her husband might be brought to terms. 

Dr. Browne smiled. 

You will remember, Mrs. Temple,” he said, that 
your friends all warned you in this matter of your 
marriage. It is so impossible for a Catholic to become 
anything else, that it has become an adage, ^ Once a 
Catholic, always a Catholic.’ Do not expect your 
husband to change; the leopard might as well be 
expected to change his spots. Ephraim is joined to 
his idols ; let him alone. Let him go to his church, 
and you to yours. It is not pleasant, but must be 
accepted as one of the conditions of your marriage. 
Neither let it create trouble between you. Avoid 
religious subjects. But as he will undoubtedly cling 
to his Church, so must you to yours. Do not be pre- 
vailed upon to go with him ; remain upon that point 
firm as himself.” 

Thereafter Juliet concluded she had better make the 
best of it, and by-and-bye it had ceased to become the 
skeleton in the house,” as at first. 

Had Juliet been less exacting and less demonstrative 
in her affection, she would have made her husband a 
happier man. Coming home one day he found her 
crying, as if her heart would break. To his eager 
inquiries as to the cause, she replied, hysterically ; 

‘^You don’t love me, John, and I am the most 
unhappy woman in the world.” 


Hubert’s wife. 


83 


Don’t love you! What has put such a notion as 
that in your head ? ” 

^^You know you don’t, John; that is enough.” 

But if I tell you I do ? ” 

^^That is just what you never do tell me; that is 
what makes me so miserable.” 

Am I unkind to you ? What have I done that 
you complain of? ” 

You don’t tell me every day that you love me.” 

Bless me! You are not expecting me to repeat 
that over every day ? Is not once enough for all ? Did 
I not prove it beyond all words by marrying you ? ” 

I never expected our honeymoon to wane. If you 
calculated to settle down at once into sober old married 
people, I did not, nor will I. I wish we had never got 
married, and always stayed lovers ; that was ever so 
much nicer. Don’t you say your Ave Maria every 
day ? ” 

^^I do,” answered John, ^^or rather I used to,” fail- 
ing to perceive what connection this question could 
have with the subject. 

Well, then, why do you do that ? Why don^t you 
say it once for all- and have done with it, as you say of 
your love for me ? But no, all your devotion must be 
given to a woman that lived thousands of years ago ! 
You think more of her picture than of your own wife ! 
This is what one gets by marrying a Catholic ! ” 

Juliet’s temper was fast overcoming her grief. 

John Temple was agitated by a variety of emotions. 
He looked at his wife, who had re-burled her face in 
the sofa cushions, and thus addressed her, inaudibly : 


84 


Hubert’s wife.. 


^^Yoii foolish little simpleton! you ignorant little 
heretic ! — destitute both of religion and common sense. 
Good Heavens, what a wife ! Jealous of Mary, our 
Mother in Heaven ! O, Holy Mary in Heaven, pray 
for her.” 

The dinner-bell rang. 

^^Come, Juliet,” said her husband, kindly, ^Get ns 
go to dinner ; I am hungry as a bear.” 

You can go ; I have no appetite. I never care to 
eat again as long as I live,” came out dismally from 
the depths of the pillows. 

John ate a hearty dinner, when, failing to conciliate 
his wife, he went to his office. No sooner had the hall- 
door closed on him than Juliet arose out of her sack- 
cloth and ashes, bathed her face, arranged her hair, and 
proceeding to the dining-room, so far forgot her inten- 
tion of never eating again as to surprise the cook by 
her greediness. She then dressed, ordered her carriage, 
and was driven to her mother’s. 

To this mother, who was a eonfirmed invalid, and 
eonfined to* the house, Juliet poured out the exaggerated 
tale of her grievances. It was not enough that her 
husband was a Catholic; he was dlso heartless, stoical, 
unsympathizing, and unloving. 

Mrs. St. Leger listened silently to the end. At the 
conclusion she flew into a rage. 

You shall go back to him no more,” she exclaimed. 

You see now the folly of your persisting in marrying 
him. He was beneath you in every respect. But you 
shall not live with him. My daughter shall not be 
treated disdainfully by John Temple, an Irishman and 


HUBERT^S WlEE. 


85 


a Catholic. I will send for my lawyer and have 
divorce papers drawn at once. Ring for Richard.’^ 
But, mamma — I — I — I never thought of getting 
a divorce. I love my husband. It is because I love 
him so well that I feel so bad if — if — 

Juliet, you are a goose,^^ interrupted the irritated 
parent; ^^if you are so fond of your husband, what 
are you here for with your complaints ? If you are 
bound to live with him, why, live with him, and hold 
your tongue. When it comes that you are willing to 
separate and get a divorce, then come to me, but not till 
then.’^ 

J uliet returned to her home a wiser woman. The 
very thought of separation from her husband was dis- 
tracting. What Avas mother or sister compared to him ? 
She had really no doubt of his afiection, and it sud- 
denly flashed upon her mind that such scenes as she 
had just gotten up, if frequently repeated, might have 
a tendency to alienate him. She would make it all up ; 
she would tell him hoAV sorry she was ; she Avould be 
so glad to see him ; he should love her, even though he 
did not tell her so. 

John came home that night wondering if he should 
find his wife’s face still hidden in the cushions, her hair 
standing out in a thousand dishevelled threads. It was 
not a pleasant picture. Yet it was a pleasant picture 
that met him at the door. Juliet was all smiles, blooms 
and roses. There was joy in her eyes, and gladness In 
her tones. Never had she looked quite so beautiful to 
John Temple — even when first her beauty won him. It 
was such a surprise I What wonder he committed the 
8 


86 


Hubert's wife. 


folly — but no matter. Juliet learned a lesson to her 
advantage. Tears and upbraidings had failed to move 
him. A happy face, smiles, charming toilettes, joy at 
his coming had brought out those expressions which 
demands had failed to elicit. 

J uliet was not satisfied yet. She had to tell him how 
shocked she had been at the mere thought of losing him. 
John opened his eyes, and felt considerably hurt as she 
detailed the visit to her mother, and that mother's pro- 
position for a divorce. For Juliet touched very lightly 
upon her own fault of having made outrageous com- 
plaints against him. Nevertheless he felt convinced 
of the facts, knowing Juliet had gone there with 
unkindness in her heart. By his repeated question- 
ings she admitted all, but he fully forgave her, con- 
sidering the good results of her thoughtless action. 

On the day following this domestic breeze and sub- 
sequent calm, Philip St. Leger had arrived from the 
Orient, Two months previously they had been ap- 
prised of his coming. A family conclave had been 
held, at which it had been decided that to Juliet 
should Philip's child be consigned ; for reasons already 
explained by Philip to Duncan Lisle. 

Juliet had now been married six months. She was 
twenty-five years of age ; old enough to have exhibited 
more sense and discretion than we have seen her to do. 
She was, however, one of those who will be childish as 
long as they live. Her faults and delinquencies were 
due more to improper training tlian to natural defects. 
With such characters is hope of reformation. 

Juliet was delighted with the child^ which was just 


ilUBERT^S VrrFE. 


87 


commencing to walk, and could say a few words. She 
had the dark eyes and hair, and creamy complexion of 
the St. Legers. 

Juliet had been, even among girls, distinguished for 
her love of dolls. To make dresses and hats for her 
troop of a dozen had formed one of the chief pleasures 
of her childhood, continued far up into youth. 

In Althea she saw the quintessence of all dolls. For 
her she could embroider, ruffle, and tuck ; search the 
city over for the daintiest of baby shoes and the showi- 
est of infant hats. Althea should have a nurse, and a 
carriage, and a poodle dog. Santa Claus should not 
only give her his choicest gifts at Christmas but should 
shower down toys every day in the year. After a little, 
in another year, she would take her with her to St. 
Mark’s, where she should attract all eyes by her dress 
and beauty. 

That Althea had a soul to be trained, carefully 
guided and directed to God, entered not into the cal- 
culations of this giddy, superficial woman. 






CHAPTER XII. 

THE CHRISTEN I Xa. 

YEAR afterward came little Johnny into 
the house of the Temples. Words alto-' 
gether fail to do justice to the mother’s 
2)ride and joy. 

Leonora, who wore proudly her husband’s grand 
name of Van Rensaleer, looked down on the Tem- 
ples; nevertheless, as a duty, she called to congratu- 
late them upon the birth of a son. 

Yes, a fine babe,” she replied to the father’s ques- 
tioning look of admiration. A nice baby, I dare 
say,” she said in answer to Juliet’s glowing extolations, 
finished by a ^^do you not think so?’^ ^^But all babies 
look alike to me,” she added. I fail to see the aharin, 
I prefer my poodle.” 

Sour grapes,” returned Juliet, her eyes flashing* 

Sweet grapes, my dear,” said her sister, softly. 
^^Well, I wish you much joy, and may the child 
prove a blessing to you.” 

Then came Estelle. She was Mrs. Lang, She had 
married an Englishman, and would have gotten along 
comfortably had she not been ^Svorrled to death with 
those children.” Hugh was now four years old, the 



HUBERT'S WIFE. 


8y 

twins two and a-half, and Robby in bis eleventh month. 
Four boys, and they kept the house in commotion from 
one year’s end to another. 

To Juliet’s joyful outbursts Estelle answered ; O, 
it is all very well just now ; I know all about it; but 
wait until you have four ! Why, I cannot get from the 
sound of their noise; it rings in my ears now. There 
isn’t a moment when I am not on the keen jump, 
expecting some limb to be broken, some eye to be put 
out, or some dreadful disease to come around. I dread 
the warm season on account of its summer-complaints ; 
and the cold for its croups, scarlet fevers, measles^ and 
Avhooping cough. I warn you, J uliet, you are seeing 
your happiest days.” And Estelle, with a weary look 
and dreary tone, took her departure for her luxurious, 
but uproarious home. 

What are you going to do with the baby ? ” asked 
^Fr. Temple of the little Althea. 

I yock it,” she answered, placing her hand upon 
her own small crib, rocking it to and fro. 

The young mother, excited and nervous, would not 
heed the Doctor’s cautigns to keep herself quiet. Like 
many another foolish person, she thought she knew 
better than any physician could tell her. As a result 
of her indiscretion, she was attacked Avith a long and 
dangerous illness, which had nearly proved fatal. 

Upon her recovery, Johnny Avas three months old ; 
and Juliet began to talk about having him baptized. 
The first time she Avent out to drive she purchased the 
finest christening robe she could find. Nothing Avas 
too expensive for such an occasion* For herself also 


90 


Hubert’s avife. 


she obtained an entirely new outfit. If John could 
only be induced to go to the christening! Possibly 
he might ; she would make one more effort. 

One day Avhen he came home at noon she met him 
smilingly at the door. 

John, come with me a minute/’ she said, and led 
the way up the winding stairway, into the finest cham- 
ber. The bed and every article of furniture was made 
to do duty in supporting beautiful and costly fabrics. 

What ! another wedding to take place ? ” exclaimed 
John. 

The christening of our only child, my dear. See, 
everything is ready; just look at this elegant robe, fit 
for a king’s son, but only worthy of our dear boy. O 
John, I have only one drawback to all my happiness — 
if you would only go with us to St. Mark’s 1 ” 

J uliet, Avhy do you wish our child to be baptized ? ” 
inquired John. 

If you please, say christened. Why, is it not cus- 
tomary ? Do not everybody who are any thing take 
their children to the church? Indeed, it is a very 
grand occasion ; I suppose little innocent children are 
not admitted at St. Patrick’s ? ” 

On the contrary, every Catholic child is baptized, 
even at the most tender age; but, Juliet, the Catholic 
mother gives not all her mind to the child’s costly 
apparel; that is of little consequence compared to 
devoting the child to God.” 

That is not the question,” spoke Juliet, impatiently. 

Will you, or will you not go with us to St. Mark’s ? ” 

Juliet, I have something I should tell you. Our 


Hubert’s wife. 


91 


child has been baptized. I took him myself to the 
house of Father Duffy several weeks ago.” 

You did ? How dared you ? ” cried J uliet, angrily 
had the same right to take him to Father Duffy 
as have you to take him to Dr. Browne. You were 
very ill at the time; I did not like to wait.” 

It doesn’t matter at all,” cried Juliet, recovering 
herself, will take him to St. Mark’s just the same.’’ 

You should inform Dr. Browne, however, that the 
child has been already baptized.” 

He will not think he has been baptized; but I will 
tell him, and let him know how unfairly you have dealt 
with me.” 

Juliet did not know what her husband was aware of, 
that Dr. Browne, or any Episcopal clergyman, would 
consider baptism at the hands of a Catholic priest as 
true and valid. 

The Sunday appointed for the christening drew near. 
On the Saturday preceding, Juliet called on Dr. Browne. 
Having largely expatiated upon her happy anticipations 
of the morrow, she proceeded to relate to the rector the 
march her husband had stolen upon her. 

^^And do you not know, Mrs. Temple,” said the 
doctor, surprised, that, if your child has been bap- 
tized by Father Duffy, that is sufficient ? There is no 
need for our ceremony to-morrow,’^ and the rector saw 
in imagination a handsome fee that failed to reach hi.s 
grasp. 

Is it possible,” cried Juliet, disappointed and grieved 
to the heart, ^^that you consider baptism in the Catholic 
Church of any worth whatsoever ? ” 


92 


HUBERT S AVIFE. 


Most assuredly Ave do/^ ausAvered the doctor. 

But I tho^ight they AA^ere idolaters and heathens. 
How can heathens baptize ? 

The Romish Avas the first Apostolic Church ; after 
many years it imbibed errors and became corrupt. 
The Church of Arhich Ave are members, A\diich should 
really be termed Catholic and not Episcopal, came out 
from her, retaining her truth, rejecting her errors and 
superstitions. We maintain that the Church of Christ 
must be Apostolic, therefore are compelled to admit that 
to [have been the true Church from Avhich Ave sprang. 
We are really a branch of the Romish Church, unpala' 
table as it may be to some of us.^^ 

Had Juliet given attention to the rector’s theology, 
she Avould have remarked that it Avas giving the Romish 
Church too much credit. But for her his Avords fell 
idly ; she was intent on having her baby christened at 
St. Mark’s. 

But, Dr. Browne, nobody knows my baby has 
been baptized. Cannot the christening go on just the 
same ? ” 

By no means,” spoke the clergyman, decidedly. 
^^It is contrary to custom, and to the laAA^s of the 
Church.” 

Juliet Avent home sick at heart. So many prepara- 
tions, and all for nothing ; so many hopes and dreams, 
and all bloAvn up like bubbles. In her grief and con- 
fusion the complicated question as to Avhether her child 
were a Catholic or an Episcopalian did not intrude 
itself. 

She did stop to marvel, hoAvever, as to Avhether her 


Hubert’s wife. 


93 


husbarjcl had given more tlian one name to the baby. 
She had intended his second name should be St. Leger. 
But her husband was so absent-minded, she presumed 
to say that ho had forgotten all about it. Upon ques- 
tionfng him he looked up somewhat confused. 

I had indeed forgotten your intention. I do remem- 
ber now of having heard you speak of St, Leger ; I do 
remember.” 

So you had him christened without a middle name, 
plain John Temple ! I wonder you didn’t go to the 
length of giving him your own name in full, John 
Patrick Temple ! ” 

That I did do, my dear ; it was my father’s name, 
and I never thought but what it had been all settled 
between us.” 

This was too much for Juliet’s patience, already tried. 
She stamped her feet, wrung her hands, and cried aloud 
ilespairingly. 

When, at length, able to articulate, she poured upon 
John Temple’s ears such a shower of words as must 
have refreshed the very springs of his nature. She 
concluded thus : 

You are the most set, stupid, obstinate man in this 
world, and selfish too. It was not enough that I should 
have given him your old-fashioned, homely, plain name 
of John, when Alphonsus, Adolphus, or Rinaldo would 
have suited me so much better, but you must put in that 
low, vulgar, most hateful of all names — Patrick ! A 
Patrick in our own house, for our only child ! By and 
bye, he will be going by the name of Pat. My child — 
the son of a St. Leger — baptized by a Catholic priest and 
called Pat, just like the dozen other infant nobodies he 


94 


Hubert’s wife. 


had baptized the same day, no doubt. Nothing to dis- 
tinguish him from the vulgar herd — a paddy among 
paddies ! O J ohn Temple, I wish I had never seen 
your face and eyes ! 

John Temple seized hurriedly his hat, and without 
a word went out from the presence of his wife. To 
say that he was not angry would be untrue. Above 
his anger, however, swelled emotions of surprise and 
wonder. Surprise and wonder that the beautiful Juliet 
St. Leger, during six months of intimate courtship, so 
successfully could have veiled, under constant guise of 
amiability, the weak, pettish nature which she was now 
so often exhibiting. 

Of a truth, he had been simple enough to become 
attracted by her exceeding beauty of face and figure ; 
but these accidents would never have held a man of 
his sterling sense and uprightness had he not been led 
to believe it associated with a corresponding beauty of 
mind and disposition. 

For a brief while this strong man yielded to an over- 
Avhelming sense of loss and regret. The memory of 
his excellent mother came back, by comparison, to 
increase his painful confusion. 

My mother, my good motlier,^^ he sighed, noblest 
and best of Christian women, for me you died one year 
too soon. You at least would have read aright the 
heart of Juliet. Sainted mother, for thy sake, for all 
our sakes, I will do well by Juliet. Since it is as it is, 
God help me, I will not fail.^^ 

And Juliet, after the anger had cooled in her heart, 
and the flush died out somewhat in her cheek, mused 
thus ; 


Hubert’s wife. 


95 


^^^yas ever another such man as John Temple since 
the days of Job the patient ? There is no satisfaction 
in scolding him. Not a word will he say, but march off 
dignified as any Lord Admiral. A grand way that is of 
iieaping coals on my head. I wish I eould learn to bite 
my tongue, as I know he does his. I am really afraid 
he will come to disrespect and despise me. Why can 
not I mend my ways ? But it was aggravating, wasn’t 
it, Johnnie,” turning to his babyship, ^^to give mamma’s 
darling a very, very horrible name, and have water 
poured on his sweet little head by a naughty, wicked, 
Irish Romish priest. Yes, that it was, Johnnie dear, 
and we won’t stand it, will we, Johnnie darling ?” 

Johnnie signified his concurrence of sentiment by a 
masterly plunge of his fat fingers into his precious 
mamma’s curls, which entanglement caused a rapid 
change to come o’er the spirit of her dream.” 

The anticipated grand Sunday was spent at home 
by Juliet, in her own room. The furniture in the 
best chamber was still graced by her unappropriated 
apparel. The christening robe, heavy Avith embroi- 
dery, hung as if for a crime from its temporary gal- 
lows, J uliet stepped in, viewing them but an instant, 
then withdreAV, locking the door behind her. Had she 
seen the seven hanging heads of Bluebeard’s decapi- 
tated wives, she would not have been more pained. 
She returned to her room to Aveep over her poor baby, 
Avhich she regarded as a martyr. Yes, ill-treated had 
he been, contemptuously treated ; she could have no 
more pride in him : henceforth he Avould be to her an 
object of pity. 


96 


Hubert’s wife. 


Going and returning from Mass that morning, John 
Temple began to inquire if he had not indeed rather 
wronged his wife, in giving that name to the child, 
which he knew to be so repugnant to her taste. He 
would not have liked his child to be called Luther or 
Calvin. He had been thoughtless and stupid to be 
sure. Reaching home, he sought Juliet. He found 
her in her oldest wrapper, her face red with weeping, 
her hair frightfully unkempt. 

‘^Juliet,” he began, kindly, would never have 

given Johnnie that name ” 

^^ But you did give it to him,” interrupted Juliet. 

I did ; but giving very little heed to the name. 
You were very dangerously sick. The physician de- 
clared you could not live six hours, unless change took 
place for the better. The child had been ailing. I 
thought of baptism for both of you — to the child it 
could be given. I ordered a carriage, put the nurse 
and child in and drove to Father Duffy’s. I had not 
thought of the name until asked by the priest. In 
the confusion of tlie moment I gave it as I did. I 
should not have insisted on the name had you been 
with me. It should have been anything you wished. 
When he becomes old enough to be confirmed the 
name can be changed.” 

His name shall never be written with a P. It 
shall be written J. St. Leger Temple. I will get Dr. 
Browne to put it upon the Registry. Does Father 
Duffy record names too ? ” 

Mr. Temple replying in the affirmative, the young 
mother became seized with another spasm of terror. 
^^Then Father Duffy believes he has got that child 


IIUBEKT S WIFE. 


97 


in the Catholic Church, I suppose ! O, what a fearful 
piece of work you have made of it ! No doubt, like 
King Solomon, he will be for dividing the child, that 
he may get at least half its soul for purgatory. And 
if I had died, you would have brought up dear little 
Johnnie a Catholic! Your great hurry for his bap- 
tism shows it. That is the regard you would have 
shown for my memory I But I am not dead yet ; and 
while I live, the child goes with me to Sto Markus. I 
will still do all 7 can to bring him up respectably.^^ 

A day or two after appeared in the city a foreign 
songstress who was setting the whole Avorld mad. 
John Temple took his wife to hear her. She threw 
off, as they had been a bundle of straw, all these trou- 
bles that had so crazed her. She unlocked the best 
chamber, went in, and came out looking beautiful as 
when a bride. Among her friends again she appeared 
as if no cloud of sorrow had ever darkened her lifeo 
John Temple recognized his wife again. By these 
repeated scenes of sunshine and storm, he learned to 
rejoice in the one, and to remain undisturbed in the 
other; against the exuberance of one to present the 
parasol of calmness, and the umbrella of patience to 
ward off descending floodso 

Three years later, one winter^s evening at tea, the 
dining-room servant informed John, upon his inquir- 
ing for her mistress, that that lady wished to see him 
in the best chamber. He had not seen her since early 
in the morning. At dinner he had been told that slie 
was lying down, and wished not to be disturbed. 
Having hurried through his tea, he repaired to the 
* 9 


98 


Hubert’s wife. 


room designated. The first object that met his view 
was very large Mrs. Biggs overflowing the arm-chair, 
with a roll of white flannel in her lap, over which 
Althea and Johnny were absorbingly bending. 

(( ^Ve’ve got a baby, papa ! ’’ Mrs. Biggs has 
brought us a baby ! ” cried out the children simul- 
taneously. 

Mr. Temple evinced the greatest surprise, of course, 
but walked straight up to his wife. She smiled upon 
him mischievously, saying : 

You are surprised to find me here and not in our 
own room?’’ 

When the perplexed husband had nodded his head, 
the wife continued : 

I wished to be up-stairs for two reasons : the second 
is because they say it is a sign that the child who 
beholds the light for the first time above stairs will be 
surely rich; and the first, because — because — O, John, 
I have stolen a march on you this time — I wanted Dr. 
Browne to be sent for and the christening over with 
before you should know4here was a baby in the house. 
Little Flora Isabella Ernestine has been already chris- 
tened;” and the wife’s eyes were full of triumph. 

^^All right,” replied John Temple, smiling grimly; 
and he was fain to hiss his wife, and to cast a satisfied 
glance at the sole daughter of his house and heart,” 
which was so royally blessed with abundance of name. 
In his view the child was not yet baptised, and at a 
convenient season he would take it to Father Duffy ; 
but he would not trouble his wife by disclosing this 
intention** 



CHAPTER Xlir. 

NEW MISTEESS AT KENNONS. 

‘^When a woman will, she will, you may depend on’t, 
When she won’t, she won’t, and there’s an end on’t.’ 

RS. Jerusha Thornton Rush, from the time 
of Ellice^s death, had firmly resolved on 
marrying Duncan Lisle. He, on the other 
hand, had firmly resolved never to allow 
that scheming widow to supplant his lost wife. 

Whether her will was stronger than his, or whether 
he changed his mind, it matters not; at the end of 
three years Mrs. Rush had carried her point and become 
Mrs. Lisle—one of the incomprehensibilities which 
may be left without comment. 

She had struggled so long and doubtfully for the 
prize, that, by the time she had won it, she was dis- 
posed to undervalue and despise it. 

will make him feel In his turn, when In my 
power, how charming the sensation of being spitted 
or speared ! she had threatened, and she kept her 
word. 

I jist knowed it from de fust,^^ declared Aunt Amy, 
sorrow and anger in her tones, and the Indian expres- 
sion assuming mastery in her face. Somehow I jist 




100 


Hubert’s avife. 


felt it all over me dat dat woman would come aroun’ 
massa and jes make him marry her. She’s ’Avitched 
him; she’s gin him love-potions, I make no doubt; 
and I ’spec’s ” — here she loAvered her voice to a Avhis- 
per — I ’spec’s she’s sold herself to de debil to make 
him help her. Nuthin’ else could ever ’duced Massa 
Duncan to marry such a — such a crocodile. He’ll 
never be sorry but onc’t, and ’dats all his life.” 

^^Der’s an end to all our ’joyment,” sighed Chloe, 
groAvn more Aveighty in flesh ; de Lord knows Avhat’s 
going to become of us — an’ all her host o’ bad niggers 
mixin’ in Avid our’n, and she domineerin’ ober eberytlng. 
O, it’s an orful bad day for us, sure ! An’^ then, that 
liateful boy o’ her’n — he's Avorse ’an pizen, notstan’ing 
his slick, ile-y Avays — ’tAveen him an’ her AVe’ll stan^ 
mighty slim chance. She bad’s bad can be, an’ he 
Avorse.” 

China shed tears silently over her needle, giving noAV 
and then a groan. She, too, Avas haunted by a presen- 
timent that her happy days Avere over. For her, Miss 
Riisha, as all the servants called her, had ever evinced 
unconcealed dislike, for the very reason, it Avould seem, 
that it irked her to behold any person in peace and con- 
tentment. She especially hated meek, gentle, uncom- 
plaining people, and loA^ed to render them uncomforta- 
ble. And China, Ellice’s favorite liouse-serA^ant, Avas 
so good, gentle, and obedient, that her former mistress 
liad seldom found fault Avlth her. 

IMr. Lisle, immediately after his marriage, had taken 
his bride North on a visit to the principal cities, intend- 
ing to call upon the Temples, to make acquaintance 
Avith his loved sister’s child. 


HUBERT^S WIFE. 


101 


His stay at this latter place was short indeed, for 
Miss Rusha, presuming to find fault with Juliet^s mode 
of training, or rather of indulging Althea, had provoked 
the latter ladj^s ire to such a degree as to render any 
further tarrying out of the question. For some reason 
or other, Mrs. Lisle would have persuaded her husband 
to make an effort for gaining the guardianship of his 
niece. This, however, he peremptorily refused to do, 
although he became greatly attached to the child, who 
was lovely and Avinning to a remarkable degree. 

Upon the return to Kennons of the newly-married 
people, a tutor Avas secured for the two boys, Thornton 
and Hubert. It AA^as soon found, hoAvever, that Ken- 
nons Avas not large enough for them both; that they 
could not study peaceably in the same room, nor, Avith- 
out a quarrel, at least in words, exercise upon the same 
grounds. The tutor Avas overAvearied Avith incessant 
struggles to keep the two from variance. He advised 
that one should be sent aAvay ; or, if both should be 
sent, they should go to different points of the compass. 
Mrs. Lisle Avould not consent for her only child to go 
away from her ; as to Thornton, he declared he Avould 
not be sent away to schooL Hubert was more Avilling ; 
at home his life Avas a misery on account of Thornton 
and his mother ; any other place Avould be preferable, 
thought this motherless boy of eleven years. He Avas 
accordingly sent to a Northern school, Avhere, Avlth 
intervals of A^acation, he spent the next eight years of 
his life. 

The servants at Kennons had not been mistaken in 
their calculations. The ncAV mistress soAved divisions 
9 * 


102 


Hubert's avife. 


and discord with a lavish hand. Duncan was annoyed 
witli complaints against this and that one^, until his 
patience gave Avay, and he plainly told his wife that he 
would not listen to them ; that his servants were uncom- 
monly good until she had come in the midst of them. 
Greatly exasperated at this, she treated them still more 
harshly. She placed over them her own servants, not 
out of love for them, but to humiliate those who had 
been the faithful servants and friends of her hated 
rival, Ellice. 

China was the first victim. She was too ladylike in 
her deportment, too quiet and silent in her Avays. She 
Avas ousted from her Ioav rocker and favorite Avlndow, 
deprived of her needle, Avhich had in some sort become 
a life-companion, and made to do all sorts of drudgery ; 
no settled Avork, but hurried from that, this, and the 
other; never knoAving Avhat Avas coming next — the 
hardest kind of Avork — slavery, indeed. 

China endeavored to do faithfully all that she Avas 
bidden; sewing, hoAvever, Avas her trade; she knew 
hoAV to do naught else Avell; she Avas consequently 
chidden and scolded from morning until night. 

Mrs. Lisle’s antipathy toward her greAV every day 
more strong. She sought a cause for having her 
degraded from the rank of house-servant to field-hand. 
She had employed more than one fruitless stratagem. 

China Avas very fond of oranges. Probably this 
taste had been cultivated by her former mistress, Avho, 
also, being very partial to the same fruit, often shared 
her stores Avith her favorite servant. Mrs. Lisle became 
aAvare of this. She placed some oranges in the draAver 


Hubert’s wife. 


103 


of her bureau, and, contrary to custom, ordered China 
to set the room to rights.’’ 

Morning after morning the fault-finding mistress 
counted lier oranges, and, to her disappointment, found 
not one missing. 

On the fourth morning the fatal drawer was left 
slightly drawn. As China passed it with her duster 
the perfume caught her attention ; she peeped within, 
and the gleam of the oranges tempted her vision ; she 
gazed at them as did Eve at the apples ; she took one 
in her hands, and thrust it to her nose ; she said to her- 
self, My dear Miss Ellice would have given me some 
of these ; Miss Euslia is too mean for human ; perhaps 
she would never miss one ; if she did, how was she to 
know who took it?” and thrusting the orange in her 
pocket, she finished hastily her work, went out of sight 
and sound, and feasted upon the coveted dainty. No 
sooner was it devoured than she repented heartily. 
The serpent had tempted her ; she had yielded ; now, 
when the mischief was done, he called her a fool, and 
promised her she should be discovered ; he did not tell 
her how soon ; and though China was filled with fears, 
she little dreamed that that very moment her relentless 
enemy was triumphing over her success. 

^^An orange has been stolen from my drawer,” 
exclaimed Miss Rusha, severely, to the knot of ser- 
vants summoned together by her order ; stolen with- 
out leave or license,” reiterated the angry mistress, 
though, in truth, more secretly pleased than angry, 
^^and I am bound to know who is the offender. A 
thief shall not remain in this house ; and I here warn 


104 


hubeet’s wife. 


you all that she who proves to be the culprit shall be 
condemned to the fields.’^ 

The women and girls sidled about, grinning, ogling 
each other with swimming eyes. China, however, was 
an exception ; she looked neither to the right nor left, 
but trembled, and was downcast. It flashed over her 
quick mind instantly that for her a trap had been delib- 
erately laid, and she had stepped straight into it. 

China had heretofore prided herself upon her truth- 
fulness and honesty ; to this she had been trained by 
the best of mistresses ; and if there was aught on earth 
she despised it was a deceitful, thieving servant. O, 
how had she fallen ! 

Buried in her own painful emotions, China had not 
noticed that the question put to and denied by the 
others was now addressed to her. 

Do you not hear ? Are you deaf and dumb, 
China, that you do not answer me? Speak, now! 
Did you, or did you not, steal this orange ? ^ 

Thus suddenly aroused from this painful reverie to 
confront the angered eyes of the mistress she both feared 
and hated, she hesitated, then said, in a low tone, but 
defiantly : 

‘^Idid not:^ 

At that moment China hated herself more than her 
mistress, and glanced helplessly around, as if for some 
fig-leaf beneath which to hide. 

You did not ! repeated the mistress slowly and 
with emphasis, fastening upon the poor girl her merci- 
less eyes. You say you did not ; all the servants say 
they did not. AVe will see.^^ 


HUBERT^S WIFE. 


105 


Mrs. Lisle produced a tiny paper from her pocket, 
and emptied its powdered contents into half a wine- 
glass of water; stirring the mixture, she gave a spoon- 
ful to each suspected person, and then ordered them to 
stand in a row in the back-yard. 

This cruel woman watched to see the sable faces 
turned to a deathly yellow ; ipecacuanha was a success- 
ful rack and torture. To all, however, but to China, 
did the consciousness of innocence atford alleviation. 
Fresh pieces of peel ejected from her stomach gave 
ample witness as to who had purloined the orange. 
All her companions were surprised, some grieved, some 
rejoiced; for 

“ Base Envy withers at another’s joy, 

And hates that excellence it cannot reach.” 

It is well for pride to have a fall,^^ said one. 

She thought herself so much betteFn all the rest 
on us,^’ quoth another. 

I alius thought she wa^nt no betteFn she should 
be, for all her puttin^ on such airs,^^ spoke a third 
contemptuously. 

She won’t find no rocking-chair, nor no time to 
sing love-songs, nor make herself bows and fine lady 
fixins out in de corn and ’bacco patch. Heigho!” 
crowed Dinah. 

Amy’s Indian eyes swam In tears, and she and the 
mighty Chloe cast pitiful glances at their disgraced 
companion. 

She never did it of her own ’cord,” thought the 
shrewd Amy ; Miss Rusha jes threw on her her spell ; 


106 


Hubert’s wife. 


she ’witched her as she did Massa ; she made her go do 
it ; she jes did now, so ! ” 

^^You will not enter the house again,” said Mrs. 
Lisle to the proved culprit. My Jane will bring 
your things from Aunt Amy’s cabin, which she has 
allowed you to occupy — you are never to let me see 
you about the place again — never — or you will rue the 
day, I will see Mr. Fuller, the overseer, who will 
assign you a place. Now go, deceitful thief and liar 
— your punishment is but too mild.” 

China, in going out from the home of her master, 
would fain have gone around by the grave of Ellice. 
But, besides thinking she might be watched, she felt 
in her disgrace too unworthy to kneel upon that sacred 
soil. 

So, scarcely able to hold herself upright, which she 
must needs do, in order to support her bundle upon 
her head, she walked wearily onward, from the fair 
white house of Kennons, down the well-worn path 
that led to the rude, unsightly cabins of the field- 
hands, still more rude. 

She was still weak, and suffering from effects of the 
harsh emetic, and this, with her shame and sorrow at 
her crime, more than her banishment, rendered her 
hopeless and wretched. 

Duncan Lisle was riding slowly homeward from a 
consultation with his overseero Whose was that reel- 
ing, swaying figure in the path before him? Not 
China of pleasant face, of cpiiet speech and mien? 
No, and yes. What could it mean? What mortal 
sickness of mind or body had wrought such ghastly 
woe in the face but yesterday so placid ? 


Hubert’s wife. 


107 


^^Are you China, or China’s ghost?” questioned he, 
dra^ying rein as he came up to this favorite house-ser- 
vant. 

You have said it, master Duncan ; I am but the 
ghost of poor China,” and the ponderous bundle 
dropped first to the horse’s nose and then at his fore- 
feet, while her face fell into her trembling hands, her 
tears flowing down through her fingers, the first that 
she had shed. 

Tell me all about it, China — but the sun is hot, 
come under the shade of this tree,” and the master led 
the way to an umbrageous beech close by. There, still 
resting upon his horse, while China leaned against the 
enormous trunk, the story was told of the day’s doings 
without exaggeration or extenuation. 

Though it was a clear story of theft and falsehood, 
Duncan Lisle naturally took the same view of it as 
had the humble Amy. The master of Kennons had 
not been ignorant of his wife’s systematic persecution 
of this inoffensive servant. He had more than once 
spoken to her on the subject — but finding he had but 
made the matter worse, ceased to interfere. Kow, he 
suspected China to be the victim of a successful plot. 
His wife had made a bold move, and without his 
sanction. A more fiery man, yielding to indignation 
and to a sense of the injustice wrought, would have 
taken China home again, saying to his wife both by 
word and action, that he was still master in his own 
house, and of his own servants. But Duncan Lisle 
knew that life for China at the house was over. She 
had been long enough suffering incessant martyrdom 


108 


hubeet’s wife. 


under the heavy sway of the new mistress. Yes, it 
would be better for her to go away. He regarded her 
pityingly ; then that emotion was quickly reflected 
from her to himself. 

She can go away — she can find happiness elsewhere. 
O, is there not somewhere in the wide world a place of 
beautiful peace groaned the unhappy man to himself, 
while his eyes wandered involuntarily toward the white 
column that gleamed in the sunlight nearly a mile dis- 
tant. By an effort the master recovered himself. 

So she has sent you down to be with Bet, and Nan, 
and Kizzie, and Sam, Jake, Jim, and all those fellows ? 
You can’t live there a month. Would you like your 
freedom, China? Would you like to go to Bichmond 
— you could get plenty of places, either as nurse or 
seamstress ? ” 

O, master Duncan, I should die if I had to leave 
Kennons ” — for this first thought of complete separa- 
tion from all she had known and loved was intoler- 
able. 

You can try it then down yonder. I will ride down 
to-night or to-morrow, and speak to Mr. Fuller. You 
can be thinking it over. You have been a good girl — 
I owe you something. If you can’t stand it there — and 
I know you can’t — I will give you papers of manumis- 
sion and money to take you to Richmond. You have a 
close mouth — do not speak of this. Well, keep up heart 
and God bless you.” 

The master and servant parted— the one to ride wear- 
ily to his unpeaceful home, the other to journey along 
more hopefully to the shadeless cabins in the fields. 



CHAPTER XIV. 

CHINA — UNCLE MAT’S PRAYER-MEETING. 

OMPARED to the field-hands, who were 
little more than heathen and barbarian, our 
favorite China was a princess. One day 
and night among them proved to the un- 
happy girl that her master was in the right — slie could 
not live with them. If she had met with suspicion, 
jealousy, and envy beneath her master^s roof, she could 
not expect to escape it in her new liome, where ignor- 
ance and all the baser passions ruled. 

Toward night on the following day, which was Sat- 
urday, the master appeared at the cabins. He found 
China weeping disconsolately in the shade of a tree. 
So profoundly was she buried in her grief, she saw not 
her master until she heard his voice. For many hours 
had she watched his coming. When die had ceased to 
look for him, his kind voice aroused her to a momen- 
tary gladness. 

O, Master Duncan ! Master Duncan ! was all she 
could utter. 

^^Bad enough, yes; I knew how it would be; I 
knew you would be willing to leave Kennons after you 
had tried this. I have just returned from Flat Rock ; 

JQ 





110 Hubert’s wife. 

have had all the papers made for you ; China, you are 
a free woman ! ” 

Master Duncan! good Master Duncan!” was 
all she could say again. 

Here, China, this is probably the last present I 
shall ever make you,” handing to her a portmonnaie 
containing a few pieces of silver and gold, as also the 
invaluable papers of manumission. He withdrew it 
again as she was extending her hand, remarking : 

It is better, however, that it should be in the hands 
of Mr. Fuller. He is to go with you to-night to Flat 
Rock, You will remain at the Bald Eagle ” until 
the train passes on Monday. You could remain at 
Petersburg if you chose, but my friends at Richmond 
can help you. I have written them, and they will 
see you properly cared for. Mr. Fuller will hand you 
this ” — referring to the portmonnaie — and you must 
guard it carefully. It is not sufficient that you carry 
it in your pocket; you should secrete it in some part 
of your dress, fastening it securely. You have a needle 
and thread? Well, then, do as I have told you. Be 
a good girl — honest and trutlifal; when I come to 
Richmond I will see you. There, don’t cry now ; you 
can yet be happy. I must have another talk with 
Fuller ; ” — seeing that personage approaching — I 
shall not see you again; take care of yourself, and 
good-bye ; ”— and the master stretched down his hand 
— for he was still on horseback“which China grasped 
and presumed to kiss. 

There, that will do, my good girl ; and don’t for- 
get what your Miss Ellice taught you,” 


Hubert’s wife. 


Ill 


This unusual reference to her former mistress was 
another stab for poor China. As her master rode 
away, she threw herself down upon the ground, making 
mournful moans that might have softened the hardest 
heart. 

The field-hands, coming up from work an hour later, 
beheld with rage and dismay the intended victim of 
their malice mounted upon one of the fleetest horses 
upon the plantation, and Mr. Fuller all ready to mount 
another. He was but waiting to give additional orders 
to this unruly gang. This being done, each equestrian 
gave a slight stroke of the whip, and the horses gal- 
loped away from a hundred staring eyes. 

Let us fling a stone at her,” said one. 

Let us set up a mighty howl,” suggested a second. 

And git a mighty floggin’ for yer pains,” sneered a 
third, who was possessed of a grain of discretion. 

China’s heart lightened as she left the cabins and the 
intolerable red sands upon which they were situated. 
It was not the first time she had seen the uncouth faces 
and forms of the motley group who had been venge- 
fully regarding her ; but their appearance had seemed 
doubly appalling when viewed in the light of being 
her associates for life. Out of their sight she breathed 
freely again, and coming shortly into the main road, a 
feeling almost of joy seized her. 

I will not weep or be sad any more. I will leave 
the old life behind me, and Miss llusha too, thank the 
Lord. Ah, poor Master Duncan ! what a life he must 
live of it — the best master that ever servant had — good, 
kind Master Duncan I The trees hide Kennons from 


112 


iitJBERT’s WIFE. 


view ; I shall not see it again. I would liked to have 
said farewell to Bessie, and to Chloe and Amy, and to 
Miss Rusha’s Kizzie, too. I wonder if I ever shall 
see one of them any more ; and in spite of her reso- 
lution not to cry, China was obliged to wipe the tears 
that blinded her eyes. 

Mr. Fuller was a model overseer. Nobody knew 
from what quarter of the world he had hailed. He 
Jiad been overseer for Duncan Lisle during seven years, 
and no one had ever heard him allude to any antece- 
dents. He was a silent, reserved man of fifty years, 
perhaps, possessed good judgment, discerning sense of 
right and wrong, was inflexibly just, and invariably 
faithful to his word. 

Duncan Lisle might well felicitate himself up(»n 
having secured so invaluable an assistant. He hcd 
never found, and was never expecting to find, his con- 
fidence misplaced. Trust begets trust, and master ar d 
overseer had become excellent friends. 

Mr. Fuller had, however, a history of his own, but 
it lay away in England, where he prudently resolved 
to let it remain forever buried. For China he dis- 
charged his mission faithfully, exchanging with her 
only indispensable words, and, confiding to her care the 
precious portmonnaie, bade adieu botli to her and to 
the Bald Eagle,^^ returning to Kennons after mid- 
night. 

China formed a pleasant acquaintance with the ser- 
vants of the Bald Eagle,^^ and passed her Sunday 
very agreeably. At night she was invited to attend 
Uncle Mat’s prayer-meeting. Uncle Mat was a per- 


Hubert’s wife. 


113 


sonage of importance, not only in his own estimation, 
but in that of many others. His master was a drunken 
fellow, who had squandered most of his substance. By 
degrees he had lost the greater part of his plantation, 
had sold the most of his servants, his wife had died, 
children married and gone, and but for Mat he would 
have gone to utter ruin long ago. It was Mat who 
interfered in bloody quarrels, receiving blows and vitu- 
perations himself; it was Mat who walked by his mas- 
ter’s side from elections, fairs, shows, etc., steadying 
him when he reeled, picking him up when he fell, 
dragging him from horses’ feet and drunken men’s 
knives, and keeping the breath of life in him by sheer 
watchfulness and unflagging exertion. 

In return for this devotion, the master, Dick Rogers, 
gave but abuse of hand and tongue. But Uncle Mat 
was a Christian. He had a gift at prayer and exhor- 
tation. He could read, strange to say, and sing, of 
course. Mat was older than his master. Dick had 
been an only son, petted and spoiled. Mat had been 
his body-servant from his babyhood. Dick’s father, 
upon his dying bed, had exacted from Mat a promise 
that he would always have a care for his reckless son. 
Mat had fulfilled his vow. Mat had learned to read 
by hearing the governess teach Dick. To shame the 
latter into diligence, it was a habit with Miss Train to 
call up the black boyj who exhibited more capacity and 
willingness than her pupil. 

The servant was of a serious, reflective turn of mind. 
He became converted at a Methodist camp-meeting, 
and as he became a kind of preacher among his own 
10 * 


114 


Hubert’s wife 


people, he staid converted. He had one fault, to speak 
not of others. He was irascible to a great degree ; a 
mosquito or a flea would drive him into a passion. 
But throughout his long career as guardian of his mas- 
ter, he had been never known to lose patience with him. 
Even mothers become vexed exceedingly with unduti- 
ful children ; but this care of Mat for his worthless 
master exceeded even that of a mother for her child. 
Exceeded ? Nay, we will say equalled. 

It was somewhat rare in the slave States for servants 
to meet for religious purposes; insurrection might 
brood under such a cover. Mat, however, was so well 
known and so universally esteemed in his neighborhood, 
that he was allowed to hold his prayer-meetings every 
Sunday night. 

It was to one of these that China went with her 
new-made friends. Nancy Carter’s cabin Avas the 
meeting-house pro tern. It had been prepared for the 
occasion by an •elaborate trimming of oak leaves and 
green boughs. Bouquets of flowers were interspersed 
with lights upon the preacher’s stand. This invasion 
against white people’s customs was due probably to the 
intense love which Afric’s sons and daughters have for 
the beautiful flowers.” 

Mat, tall and dignified always, seemed magnified in 
proportions and dignity when installed behind his 
stand of flowers and lights. His initial proceeding 
was invariably a great flourish of his white cotton 
handkerchief. 

If Mat had a source of vanity deeper than another, 
it was of this above-mentioned article j and this, too^ 


HUBERT^S WIFE. 


115 


was so well known of him, that most of his presents 
consisted of handkerchiefs. He had, among his depos- 
its, a good-sized box full of these useful and ornamen- 
tal inventions. There was one from Lucy and Lizzie, 
four Sallies, three Dinahs, three Betties, two or three 
Janes, as many Anns, and hosts of others too numerous 
to mention. And every one of those donors looked 
steadily at the flourish of the preacher, if happily her 
own gift had come to the coveted honor. 

The first prayer consisted of very large words very 
fervently uttered. This was comparatively brief, as a 
lengthy one for the whole world was to follow the first 
hymn. 

Mat had adopted, of course, the custom of his supe- 
riors in the matter of singing. He read from the book 
the first two lines of the hymn, which the congregation 
seized and sung to the best of their ability. Two lines 
more were read, when music of voice, if not of words, 
became distinguishable. 

Upon this occasion the preacher seemed troubled 
with unusual indistinctness of vision. He took his 
glasses from his nose more than once, violently rubbing 
ihem with his spotless handkerchief. Taking up his 
book for the third time, his eyes or his spectacles seemed 
still to be at fault. Perplexed and irritated, he ex- 
claimed, unguardedly : 

^^Dog-gone-it ! my eyes are dim; I cannot see to 
read this hymn.^^ 

The congregation supposing it all right, tuned up, 
and repeated it, though one would have been at great 
loss to make sense out of the myriad-syllabled confusion. 


116 


Hubert’s wife. 


The preacher, surprised, attempted to explain. He 
said energetically, book still in hand ; 

did not mean to sing that hymn, I only meant 
my eyes were dim.” 

The simple people, still supposing the hymn to be 
continued, again poured forth volumes of sound. 

In vain the preacher gesticulated, stamped, and 
threatened. So varied usually were the performances, 
this was thought to be but part of the programme. 
When the music hushed again the preacher cried : 

The devil must be in you all, that is no hymn to 
sing at all ! ” 

Were those black people wilfully stupid ? By no 
means. They did not know but they were doing as 
they had always done. The hymn-book was Greek to 
them, words were words; therefore they took up Uncle 
Mat’s last words as innocently as if they had been 

“ On Jordan’s stormy banks I stand, 

And cast a wishful eye.” 

Uncle Mat’s patience gave out completely ; he hurled 
his book at the musical leader’s head ; 

Dcre, now see if ye can stop yer ’fernal noise. 
What bizness yer sing dat ? Dats nothin’ for to sing. 
You don’t know nothin’. You biggest heap o’ wooly 
heads I eber did see. Was der eber such a pack o’ 
ignerant-ramuses eber in dis world afore ? I answer 
’firmatively — no ! What’s de use o’ temptin’ to preach 
to sich people? Dey wouldn’t know if one was to 
rise from dc dead. Not know de diff’rence ’tween 
psalm tunes an nuffin else ! Dis people be dismissed.” 


Hubert’s wife. 


117 


The latter sentence was pronounced most disdain- 
fully. The chorister, with head unbroken, and tem- 
per unruffled, arose and begged they might all be for- 
given their heedlessness ; it would be so great a dis- 
appointment to have the meeting broken up so pre- 
maturely, it would give them great pleasure if Uncle 
Mat would be so kind as to dispense with singing and 
proceed to prayers and exhortations. One or two 
other prominent members followed in much the same 
strain, flattering the indignant preacher by making 
special reference to his eloquence and popularity. 

This had the desired effect. Uncle Mat became 
mollified, and wiping the angry perspiration from his 
brow, he embarked upon his longest prayer — during 
which our China and many others fell fast asleep. 




CHAPTER XV- 



KIZZIE, 

UCY/^ said Mrs. Lisle, to a dwarfed child 
of thirteen years, who was one of those 
creatures expected to ^^run two ways at 
once,’^ ^^run, Lucy, and tell Kizzie to come 
straight here to me.” 

The winged child came speedily back, accompanied 
by the weaver, a stolid looking old negress nam<id 
Kizzie. 

Kizzie,” exclaimed her mistress, know you have 
stolen the cover to that barrel that has been standing 
for so long outside the store-room.” 

What for should I want wid de cover. Missis ? ” 
inquired the servant. 

That is for you to tell, and right soon too — do you 
hear me ? ” 

I have never touched the cover. Missis.” 

I do not believe you. Who has then ? ” 

^^Sure, an’ I doesn’t know. You alius lays ebery- 
ting on to me. Missis, when I’se jes as in’cent ” 

I wish to hear none of your palaver. You have 
stolen from me repeatedly ; you know you have been 
just as hateful as you could be ever since — ever since 
Joe went away.” 



Hubert’s wife. 


119 


Mrs. Lisle had not designed this reference to Joe. 
Any mention of his name only made Kizzie more 
intractable. 

Kizzie had been standing upon the threshold of her 
mistress’ chamber, upon which she now sank down 
as if she had been shot. She had rolled herself into 
a ball, her grey head buried in her lap, from which 
issued the most protracted unearthly howl. This was 
succeeded by passionate ejaculations, in which ^^my 
poor Joe — my poor dear Joe, my baby — my last and 
only one ” — were alone distinguishable. 

Kizzie, stop that acting, and get up from there,” 
commanded Mrs. Lisle. 

The ball swayed to and fro, but evinced no dispo- 
sition for unbending. 

Bring me the whip, Lucy — we shall see.” 

The blows fell heavy and fast, but as for outward 
demonstration, cry or moan, that human form might 
as well have been a cotton bale. 

The wearied hand of the mistress dropped by her 
side. She leaned against the casement panting for 
breath. Then Kizzie uprose tearless and stern. 

Miss Rusha, after this cruel floggin’, I’ve a right to 
speak ; but if you had a human heart I would not have 
this much to say. One after another ye sold my four 
big boys to the slave-buyer. You promised you Avould 
leave me my baby — my Joe. When he was fourteen 
years old you sold him too. You rob me of my five 
boys, and you ’cuse me of stealin’ a barrel-cover ! Miss 
Rusha, de judgments of de Lord will come upon you. 
Dis is my prayer, ebery day, ebery hour. Ye may whip, 


120 


HUBERT^S WIFE. 


ye may kill — my prayer is mine own prayer to pray.’^ 

Lucy/’ exclaimed Mrs. Lisle, now able again to 
speak, ^^run down to Thornton Hall and tell Mr. Hill 
to come here at once.” 

Mr. Hill was Mrs. Lisle’s overseer. 

You will do no such thing, Lucy ; and, madam, 
you have done enough,” said the indignant voice of 
Mr. Lisle, who had entered upon the scene. Go to 
your cabin, Kizzie ; call for Amy and take her along 
with you.” 

Kizzie disappeared, and Mr. Lisle, meeting boldly 
the angered face of his wife, inquired into the origin 
of this disgraceful scene. 

Kizzie is mine, not yours. I have a right to do 
with my slaves as pleases me,” said the wife. 

If you have a slave who deserves kindness at your 
hands, it is Kizzie. You have cruelly wronged her. 
To have killed her outright would have been a kind- 
ness compared to the injury you have inflicted upon 
her.” 

How you talk, Duncan Lisle ! One would think 
you a northern abolitionist. I understand whence you 
imbibed such principles” — sneeringly — ^^just as though 
one has not a perfect right to sell a slave if he wishes 
to I Don’t talk to me in any such way. I have done 
nothing that I need be sorry for. But Kizzie is indeed 
the most hateful slave on the plantation. I believe she 
steals just for the sake of stealing. What earthly use 
could she have for that cover, which she denies having 
taken, but which has mysteriously disappeared just 
when I happened to want it ? ” 


HUBERT^S WIFE. 121 

what cover do you refer questioned her hus- 
band. 

He was informed. 

I saw some little black fellows rolling something 
of the kind back of the stables this morning. Lucy, 
go hunt them up, and have the cover found. Is such 
a trifle sufficient to drive you into a passion, in which 
you accuse and punish an innocent person wrong- 
fully?^^ 

I repeat to you, Mr. Lisle, that I shall do as I 
please with my own servants, and yours too, as you 
will find, and have found, I should think. Moreover, 
I am not going to be lectured by you as if I were a 
child — Mrs. Lisle flung herself out of the room, to 
vent her bad humor upon whatever ill-starred persons 
should cross her path. 

To do justice to Mrs. Lisle, she had intended to 
have sold both Kizzie and her son to the same buyer. 
As she herself said, she was always having trouble 
with Kizzie. There were times when she was posi- 
tively afraid of her. Just before the proposed sale 
she had had a serious difficulty with her. Mistress 
and servant regarded each other as two enraged tigers 
might do, whenever they met. Mrs. Lisle made up 
her mind she would have Kizzie taken to the Court 
House and sold. Court was to be holden in a week 
or so j at such a time more or less slaves were put up 
at auction. 

Kizzie was not sorry when informed of the proposed 
plan ; though she shared, with others of her class, a 
horror of being sold South/^ she had come to think 

ll 


122 


HUBERT^S AVIFE. 


she could not possibly fall into more cruel hands. 
Besides, in that region so terrible to the imagination 
of the slaves, she might come across one or all of her 
lost sons ! At any rate, she would be beneath the 
same sky, and the dear hope of meeting them would 
be a continual comfort. 

A whole day was consumed by Tippy — her real 
name was Xantippe — in plucking out Aunt Kizzie’s 
grey hairs, and in fixing her up to appear to the best 
advantage for youth and sprightliness. She was only 
sixty, but hard labor and severe usage had told upon 
her heavily. 

Aunt Kizzie, in her neAV linsey-woolsey and shin- 
ing bandana as a turban, started off in great glee for 
the Court House. That she might appear there fresh, 
brisk, and pert, she was not suffered to walk, but 
Washington, the coachman, was ordered to drive her 
in the ark of the plantation wagon. Joe, smart, smil- 
ing, and newly-equipped in clothes, sat by her side, 
scarcely knowing whether he had best share in his 
mother’s uncommon gaiety, or yield to his own anx- 
ious misgiving. 

Another thing contributed to Aunt Kizzie’s happi- 
ness. All the way to the Court House she was at per- 
fect liberty to caress her nosegay of pinks and camo- 
mile. Kizzie had two grand passions ; one was for 
her children, the other for her fragrant pinks. If she 
was allowed a garden patch the size of a hat-crown, it 
Avas devoted to her favorite flowers. She Avas Avont to 
have her loom festooned with them ; she drank in 
their perfume as did her Aveb its Avoof j by night she 


Hubert’s wife. 


123 


had them scattered over her pillow, that, even in sleep, 
she might not lose their presence. 

should think pinks would grow out of her 
nose,” the servants were in the habit of remarking. 
It really often looked like they did, for, morning and 
evening, at her milking, her nose, instead of her 
hand, served as bouquet-holder. 

Over the rough roads then, from Thornton Hall to 
the Court House, her attention was devoted to Joe and 
her pinks. She was to be sold — that was true — but 
then she had left a hated mistress. She had with her 
all she loved, her immense nosegay, her baby Joe, and, 
in her small bundle, her one pair of ruffled pillow- 
slips. She was starting out in the world again, and 
the world looked to her unaccountably new and beau- 
tiful. 

It was morning now that shone upon Aunt Kizzie 
and her child. But night came, utterly dark and 
cheerless night, to both mother and boy. The two^ 
Were put upon the block together. The boy showed 
for himself. But the sexagenarian human chattel was 
mercilessly scrutinized. She was made to sing, dance, 
and run, Her red turban was torn off, and in spite 
of the hirsutian manipulations to which she had been 
subjected, her wool appeared, like Shakspeare^s spirits, 
mixed, black, white, and grey* 

She was seized by the nose and chin, as if she had 
been a horse, and made to distend her jaws even pain- 
fully. She experienced a qualm or two when she 
thought of what a story her few remaining broken 
teeth would tell* Still, like thg world and all the 


124 


Hubert’s wife. 


rest of mankind/’ she had never fully realized that 
she had passed her prime and her usefulness. 

This purchaser did not want her, nor did that, nor 
alas ! the other ! Each and every one were eager for 
the boy. The auctioneer’s instructions had been to sell 
the two together, if possible, if not, at all events to 
sell the boy, as he Avould command a good price, and 
money must be raised. 

Kizzie went wild when she saw her boy knocked off 
to a man who refused to take her, even as a gift 1 
O angels in heaven, what pitiful sights do ye not 
behold upon this earth of ours ! Had ye no drop of 
balm from your vials of tender mercy to pour into 
the desolate heart of the stricken slave-mother, as she 
returned homeward in the dark, clutching frantically 
at her withered pinks, as did the talons of the vulture 
of grief at her wounded heart I 

This blow to poor Kizzie occurred about the time of 
her mistress’ marriage. The price of her agony, the 
money obtained for Joe, was sent to New York, and 
returned to Mrs. Eush in glittering jewels. Had this 
haughty woman been capable of realizing her sin, the 
showy baubles would have melted in the fiery furnace 
of her shame and contrition. 

Kizzie became a changed woman ; crazed, as some 
thought. Joe had been her baby, and her baby still 
at fourteen. How could her baby get along without 
his mother? This was the burden of her complaint, 
her unceasing utterance of sorrow. And Still she 
lived on, sitting from morning until night at her 
loom, her tear of sorrow or sigh of despair inwoven 


Hubert’s wife. 


125 


with every thread, and from her bleeding heart going 
up the incessant prayer for Heaven’s vengeance upon 
her persecutor. 

One day, not far off, shall it not be more tolerable 
for Kizzie than for the beautiful mistress of Thorn- 
ton Hall ? 

11 * 




CHAPTER XVI. 



TIME AND CHANGE. 

IME and change ! \iliy add the latter word ? 
Doth not the former include all? Doth not 
time sadly overcome all things ? 

And this Time, which, according to Sir 
Thomas Brown, sitteth on a sphinx, and looketh into 
Memphis and old Thebes, which reclineth on a pyramid, 
gloriously triumphing, making puzzles of Titanlan 
erections, and turning old glories into dreams — or 
something to that effect. This old Father Time, so 
much abused, misused, has given ten years to Ken- 
nons, ten years to Philip and his second wife in the 
far away homes of the Mussulman, ten years to the 
little Althea, who has bloomed into a beautiful girl 
of fourteen, beneath the roof of her loving guardians, 
John and Juliet Temple. 

Ten years ! and the fiery war of words has been fol- 
lowed by the deadlier fire of arms ; civil war has raged 
over the sunny South, destroyed loving homes, mutilated 
fair forms, blotted out countless lives, and sent multi- 
tudes of souls Unshriven before their Makers but thanks 
be to God, riveted bonds have been broken and the slave 
hath been set free ! Grand as was the sacrifice, infinite 
was the gain. 



Hubert’s wife. 


127 


I thought/’ said Amy, when she stood on her 
mount of Pisgah, rolling up her melaneholy eyes to 
the heaven, whenee her deliverance had come, 
thought it would come some time, to our children, or 
our children’s children, but not in my time, and to 
me! Moses was in de wilderness forty years; for 
what should I tink dat de Lord would gib us our lib- 
erty sooner’n to his own faithful servant? And we 
to have our’n in four years ! But I knew it would 
come some time, sure as was a God in heaven. Hadn’t 
we been prayin’ and prayin’, an’ beseechin’, an’ how 
could de Lord stan’ de prayers of such ’pressed, trod- 
den people as we ? Bress de Lord, O my soul, an’ all 
dat is in me ! ” 

Thousands like Amy sang their songs of deliver- 
ance. And like her, they arose from the sad waters 
of their Babylon, took their harps from the willows, 
seeking out joyfully new ways to lands of promise. 

Those persons who had been kind, nay, even mod- 
erately just to their servants, were not at once aban- 
doned. Some for months, some for years, were still 
faithfully served for hire. As a rule, however, the 
freed people scattered ; but they went not far from 
their life-long homes. An innate love for early scenes 
and associations kept them where they might occasion- 
ally visit familiar persons and places. 

Duncan Lisle was now a grave man of fifty. Threads 
of silver shone in his dark hair, but his tall form was 
erect and graceful as ever. He had become, in manner 
and speech, exceedingly reserved; his countenance wore 
almost habitually a melancholy, thoughtful expression. 


128 


Hubert’s wife. 


There were times, however, when his still attractive face 
lighted up with the old smile ; and that smile re- 
vealed a gentle, noble spirit, still retaining its freshness 
unchafed by the carking cares and vexatious trials to 
wdiich he had been daily subject. While to some men 
association with so peculiar and trying a nature as 
Kusha Thornton’s might have brought moroseness and 
all unloveliness, Duncan Lisle, like the philosopher of 
hemlock fame, had turned his wife’s shrewishness into 
a coat of armor, within which he preserved his soul 
serene, contemplative, and peaceful. This is saying 
very much for Duncan Lisle. 

During the stormy period to which we have just 
referred, when the nation was in her throes of anguish, 
Mr. Lisle remained loyal to the Government. Aside 
from reason, common-sense, and humanity, he had seen 
more than enough in his wife’s treatment of servants 
to disgust him with slavery. Though he took no active 
part, and, except when occasion required, preserved his 
usual reticence upon this subject also, he was never- 
theless heart and soul upon the one side. 

It is needless to observe that his wife was upon the 
other extreme. The idea of slavery was grateful to 
her intolerant nature. For herself she acknowledged 
no superior. The very God Almighty of Heaven she 
never took into her account. Had she been Lucifer 
among the angels, she too would have rebelled. Had 
she been daughter of Servius Tullius, she would have 
ridden over the dead body of her father. The golden 
rule was for others to practice, not for her ; its Divine 
Author, the God-Man, was beyond her comprehension ; 


Hubert’s avife. 


129 


His teachings fit but for underlings and slaves. Though 
scorning and hating the slave, she clung to slavery as 
if it were her life’s blood. She poured forth all the 
venom of her nature upon the Northern foe, which was 
aiming to seize this petted horror from her grasp. She 
recalled often the tyrant’s Avish ; like him Avould have 
given worlds had the subjects of Yankeedom but a sin- 
gle neck, that she might sever the Gorgonian head at 
one happy stroke. 

She Avent almost Avild upon the subject, and Avas the 
more violent that she could not draw her husband into 
her views. It was not enough that he should listen 
with apparent patience to her harangues, she demanded 
his verbal assent to her opinions. His silence, his 
attempts at evasion, provoked her equally as his firmly 
expressed disapproval. Nothing could satisfy her. 

The marching of soldiers came even upon the grounds 
of Kennons. At times the noise and smoke of battle 
filled the atmosphere, as had the direful cholera . thirty 
years before. 

Rusha Lisle would have turned Kennons into an 
hospital for Southern soldiers. Even Avhen her hus- 
band, hiding for his life, was hunted and dogged by 
rebel soldiers, her hand fed them Avith food ; her hand 
that Avas never known to be stretched forth in charity 
to the deserving ; nay, the roof, forbidden by prowling 
rebels to shelter its master, Avas proffered to his enemies 
by its dishonored mistress. 

When tried beyond reason, Duncan Lisle arose in 
his wrath and asserted his mastery. Well might any 
true woman have quailed before that uprising, but not 


130 


nUBEKT^S WIFE. 


Rusha Thornton Lisle. A woman weaker-minded 
would have packed her silver, gathered her valuables, 
and fled to Thornton Hall, where she might harbor her 
dear rebels ad infinitum. This strong-minded woman 
well knew that by such a course of action she would be 
pleasing everybody but herself. She was not so fond 
of conferring happiness, nor so capable of self-sacrifice. 
So she continued to wage war within her household, 
more constantly vexatious to her husband, more tyran- 
nous to her servants. 

What added to Mrs. Lisle’s bitterness was the con- 
duct of her son. At the opening of hostilities, he hrd 
joined a rebel company, inflated with the idea that In 
a few weeks, or months at farthest, the Northern mud- 
sills” would be overwhelmed and out of sight. Yio 
one, except his mother, had talked louder and faster 
than himself. With his single hand he could slay a 
dozen of the cowardly Yankees. 

After all this bravado, at the first smell of gunpow- 
der, Thornton Rush threw down his firearms in a 
panic and ran as if from a sweeping tempest of fire and 
brimstone. Sleeping by day in hollow logs, traveling 
by night with haste and stealth, he made his way to the 
hated Northern lines, went as fast as cars could carry 
him to New York city, and, on a flying steamer, 
sneaked to Europe. There, once landed, he wrote his 
mother a letter. She had thought him dead, and 
mourned him proudly, as for a hero fallen for his 
country. She half read his letter, and threw it into 
the fire. Not dead, but a poltroon, a coward ! She 
stamped her foot with contempt. Her son to lack 


Hubert’s wife. 


131 


courage ? — her son a deserter from his post? She, 
woman as she was, would have gone into battle with 
the courage of a Ceesar, the constancy of a Hannibal ; 
but this son of hers, in whose veins flowed the cowardly 
northern blood, what could she expect of him, the son 
of Jude Rush? — and she curled her lip with contempt 
for both father and son. She ceased to mention his 
name, and revealed to no one that he still lived. More- 
over, she disdained answering his letter, even had she 
not destroyed his written, but unread address and ficti- 
tious name. 

Hubert Lisle, too, had volunteered, but it was to his 
country, and he was contending bravely, steadfastly, in 
the Northern ranks. Only good reports came back to 
Kennons of Ellice’s brave son. This was galling to 
Rusha’s pride ; but it refuted silently her assertion that 
courage flowed not in Northern blood, for Hubert’s 
mother had been a Northerner. 

This young man, at the firing of Sumter, had passed his 
twenty-first year. He had graduated with honor from 
school and college, and was on the eve of embarking 
for Paris, where he was to pursue his medical studies. 
The call of his country stayed his uplifted foof, and 
placed in his not unwilling hand weapons of metal 
other than implements of dissection. 

For three years Hubert was on active duty, when he 
became one of the unlucky prisoners at Salisbury. At 
the end of three months ho was amongst the exchanged, 
and emerged from that infamous place such a walking 
skeleton as might have scared a ghost. Being unable 
to reenter the service, after several weeks recruiting in 
the hospital; he was permitted to visit Kennons. 


132 


Hubert’s avife. 


That was a harder place for him than Salisbury. If 
it were not so trite, we would say he had fallen from 
Scylla upon Chary bdis ; or, if it were not vulgar, we 
might assert him to have fallen from the frying-pan 
into the fire ; we will simply say, that not finding his 
father’s wife at all agreeable, and having a remote sus- 
picion that she might be tempted to put something that 
was not pure Java into his cofiee, he left, after a few 
days, for the more congenial city where his college days 
had been spent. 

The civil war, then, had come to a close. Men had 
fought bravely on either side. It is idle to assert that 
all the courage and gallantry was with one or with the 
other. Both Northerner and Southerner fought like 
men. Eight conquered, and the South yielded grace- 
fully enough. The humiliation of her proud spirit 
was sufficient for her to bear ; taunts and sneers should 
have been spared her. 

Mr. Fuller was still overseer at Kennons, and had 
managed with Mr. Lisle to retain a majority of the 
field-hands at a fair salary. 

Of the house-servants, Amy and Chloe, being well 
advanced In years, offered to remain for the sake of 
their master. He, knowing what it must have cost 
them to make this resolve, and touched by their devo- 
tion, counselled them to leave at least the house. On the 
farthest corner of his plantation he Avould give them a 
few acres, build them a cabin, Avhere, with their youngest 
children, they could live comfortably. This proposal 
they received with joy; they would be near the dear 
master, while removed from the authority of the 
mistress. 


IIUBERT^S WIFE. 


133 


As to Elisha’s servants, at the first announcement of 
freedom, every one went out from her presence forever, 
so soon as they could gather their wretched wardrobes 
into shape for departure. The most of them wore 
their all away, and that was sufficiently scanty. All 
went, we say. No, Kizzie remained. She was now a 
poor old woman of seventy. While watching the 
others depart, she sat down upon a rickety bench, 
folded her bony fingers over her knees, and cried 
silently. She was thinking. It would be hard either 
way, to go out among strangers, or to stay where her 
life had been so sorry and hopeless. She believed, on 
the whole, she would stay. 

She did not like to leave her little cabin, where she 
had suffered so muoh, and where, after all, she had had 
her crumbs of comfort. How could she sleep out of 
her own bed, whose pillows were now ever adorned 
with lier own article of luxury — ruffled pillow-slips ? 
How could she leave that household god which stood 
day and night by her bedside, the cradle that had 
rocked her children? Should she find elsewhere a 
patch of ground for her darling pinks ? 

Besides, had there not been deep in her heart a hope 
that some time one of her boys — Joe, perhaps — might 
be led to seek his mother ? How should he find her 
if she went out none knowing whither? Yes, she 
would stay. 

Miss Eusha was glad of her resolution. She had 
hired a stranger for cook, and Kizzie, though now 
somewhat decrepit, could do her many a service. But 
it was not in this woman’s nature to acknowledge a 
13 


134 


fiUBERT^S WIFE. 


kindness ; she acted and spoke as if she were doing this 
old servant a great favor by allowing her to remain. 

It was but a few days ere Mrs. Lisle, who was now 
more than ever hasty in temper, raised her hand 
against Kizzie. Kizzie’s eyes flashed, and she answered 
her mistress with angry words. This was more than 
Mrs. Lisle could bear, and she struck her a blow. 

A free woman to be whipped like a slave,^^ thought 
Kizzie ; that time has gone by ; and she threatened 
to leave. 

Go whenever you please,^^ said the lady. 

But Kizzie could not go, and did not. She had 
borne so much, she might endure a little more. 

Her pertinacity in staying induced Mrs. Lisle to 
throw off all restraint. She believed nothing would 
force her to leave, and fell back to her former mode of 
treatment of this pitiable woman. There came a limit, 
however, to Kizzie’s endurance. She packed up her 
few goods, firmly resolved to see her mistress' face no 
more* She would stay a few days at Amy^s and 
Chloe^s, and then go farther. She would liave taken 
up her abode altogether with them, as Mr. Lisle 
advised, only that she and those amiable Women had 
not been the best of friends. Kizzie had been too soli- 
tary and brooding to form a pleasant companion. At 
the last moment she might again have hesitated had 
she not already sent her parcels ahead of her by a 
chance black man* 

Having cast a last lingering look about her cabin, 
she leaned over her cradle, which she wet with her 
tears. Then going into the sunlight, she bent down 


Hubert’s wife. 


135 


over her patch of pinks, which were now in fullest 
fragrance. She had fallen on her knees, bowing over, 
and burying her wrinkled face in the rich mass of 
bloom and beauty, 

Kizzie’s heart had not broken over the cradle, nor 
was it doomed to break over her beloved blossoms. A 
man’s step startled her. Raising her head, a tall, dig- 
nified military officer of color met her view. He 
approached her close, looking steadily at her with those 
smiling, pleasant eyes which Kizzie had never forgot- 
ten, could never forget, were they in her Joe of four- 
teen, or in this fine looking officer. Her heart said — 
^^It is my Joe; my baby Joe,” but her lips could not 
syllable a word. 

Mother,” said the trembling, glad voice, though so 
deep and heavy, ^^you still love your pinks, mother, do 
you still love your Joe ? ” 

Ah, what a meeting was that ! The wonder is that 
Kizzie survived it. Sorrow, grief, had not killed, 
neither did joy. 

When Joe told his mother he had come for her to 
accompany him North, she proposed taking her pinks, 
earth and all. 

0 no mother, I have a house and garden of my 
own ; you shall have a place for your pinks as large 
as you wish.” 

The old woman looked up at him questioningly. 
Before she could speak he said : 

1 see what you wish to know, yes, I am married.” 

And have a baby Joe” too, he would have added, 

only that he had resolved his mother should be taken 


136 


HUBERT^S WiEi!. 


by surprise in the visible knowledge of her grand- 
child. 

It was not now difficult for Kizzie to leave her old 
home; and as she journeyed northward astonished by 
new scenes, she learned from Joe his history since 
their jDainful separation. 

He had grieved so for his mother that his new mas- 
ter thought it best to part with him in a neighboring 
State. He had fallen into good hands; he had learned 
to read and write. ' At the breaking out of the war he 
had deserted his master and escaped North. Here he 
had enlisted as a soldier, and after much active service 
had been raised to rank of Lieutenant in his company. 
He had found time to marry a runaway slave-girl, 
whom he sent North. He and she were both prudent 
and industrious, and when the war was over had means 
to purchase them a comfortable home. He had always 
been determined to revisit his mother. The visit had 
been doubly pleasant, since he had fought for her lib- 
erty and his own. 

When Kizzie arrived at her son^s home, and was 
introduced to his wife and the unsuspected baby, she 
was again speechless. But her silent prayer was that 
her years might be lengthened out to the number of 
Methuseleh’s, in order long to enjoy this unaccustomed 
happiness. 


CHAPTER XYII. 


THE ST. LEGERS. 

OHN TEMPLE had been a three month’s 
volunteer at the commencement of the war. 
But his business so much suffered, and his 
absence so distracted his wife, that he con- 
sidered it his duty, after his term of service had 
expired, to remain at home. John Temple, for the 
son of an Irishman, was a man of a great deal of 
equanimity. He could face a body of soldiers without 
flinching, and he could meet dally the frivolousness 
and folly, the bagatelles and boutades of his pretty 
wife without losing patience. That he could do the 
one was not strange or uncommon ; but to do the other 
without seeking the satisfaction of slamming a door, 
kicking a footstool across the floor, or boxing the 
children’s ears, was truly remarkable. 

It was well for Juliet that she had married a man 
whose disposition and temperament was so the reverse 
of her own. She was one of those who delight in 
fancying her own life to be filled wdth more trials and 
troubles than any other person’s can be. And why ? 
She had a beautiful home, rich and fashionable in its 
appointments, plenty of servants at . her ^command, 
;i2* 




138 


Hubert’s wife. 


horses, carriage and driver at her disposal, a niece of 
remarkable loveliness and beauty, a son and daughter 
somewhat spoiled, who inherited fortunately their 
mother’s beauty and their father’s good sense ; a kind 
and indulgent husband — what more could she wish ? 

Ah, Juliet Temple ! the hand of sorrow had never 
touched thee. The sacred form of grief had passed 
thee by. Death had flitted around thee, taking 
others, leaving thee and thine. Father and mother, 
brother and sisters, husband and children all remained 
to thee ! Yet did’st thou never raise thy heart in 
thanksgiving unto God, but suffered it to be depressed 
and fretted at the nameless trifles that came vexingly. 

Few persons, like Juliet, live to the age of thirty- 
five without having suffered losses and afflictions. 
Juliet never paused to consider this. She never re- 
flected, even at a funeral, that thus far she had been 
spared, but that her turn must come. When she 
gazed upon poverty and distress no thought that such 
might have been, or might still be hers, crossed her 
mind. She was more unhappy than the cripple or the 
beggar that passed her by. 

To such souls come awakenings, soon or late ; some- 
times gentle, sometimes startling as an earthquake. 

Captain St. Leger, who had seldom visited home of 
late years, on a recent return had taken with him his 
invalid wife to China. He had opened business rela- 
tions at a principal port, which had gradually become 
his more usual stopping place and home. Mrs. St. 
Leger had improved somewhat on the voyage; and 
the first letter received from her on her arrival Avas 


hubeet’s wife. 


139 


favorable. Little then were the daughters prepared 
for the succeeding letter which contained intelligence 
of her death. 

The long illness of their mother had prepared the 
cider daughters in a measure for the event, Juliet had 
not anticipated such a thing. She had thought only 
of seeing her mother return from her lengthy voyage 
recruited in health and spirits, with her old taste and 
ability revived for society and amusements. She shut 
herself up in a room and grieved inordinately. Had 
her own and father’s household lay dead before her, she 
could not have assumed a wilder sorrow. In vain her 
husband soothed and reasoned. Her mother had been 
a great sufferer ; she could not expect but that she must 
some time die ; she was beyond the reach of pain ; for 
her the agony of death was over. All to no purpose. 
She would have no comfort in husband, children, or 
sisters; her mother was dead, and she would not be 
comforted, 

John Temple thought it would do her good to see 
Dr. Browne ; he arccordingly sent for him, and without 
her knowledge. 

Dr. Browne called ; but to see him Juliet persistently 
refused. The real reason was because she was in 
wretched deshabille, her face was swollen with weeping, 
and it would be such a weary work to do her hair. 
No ; her vanity was yet stronger than her grief, and 
she would not be seen by Dr. Browne. 

Two months passed, and Juliet had recovered her 
usual composure, if composure can be used in connec- 
tion with so unrestful a creature. 


140 


Hubert’s avife. 


And now came a letter from the hand of a stranger, 
bearing news of the sudden death by apoplexy of 
Captain St. Leger. 

This was indeed unexpected, and created in the fam- 
ily a much greater sensation than had the death of the 
mother. 

The Van Rensaleers and the Langs began to inquire 
about the condition of the property. Without con- 
sulting Mr. Temple, the husbands of Leonora and 
Estelle sailed at once for China. 

Juliet’s anxiety about her share of the estate some- 
what modified her grief in this instance. She had but 
slightly known her father ; he had been home but sel- 
dom, and for brief visits. He was an austere man, 
very fine-looking, but silent and undemonstrative. She 
should not miss him so much, still his death was such 
a shock — as she was fond of repeating to her friends ; 
she should never recover from the effects of two such 
terrific shocks. 

So selfish in her grief was J uliet, nobody’s sorrow 
had ever been like unto her own. Whereas, had she 
only stopped to consider, had she been a Christian 
instead of a heathen, a Avoman instead of a child, she 
would have borne silently this affliction as a necessary 
dispensation of Providence ; she Avould have bowed her 
heart humbly before God, kissing the hand that had 
chastened her, thankful that those nearer and dearer 
had been left unto her. 

The two elder brothers-in-laAv in due time returned 
from their mission Avith the doleful intelligence that the 
late Captain St. Leger had died insolvent, so far as his 


Hubert’s avife. 


141 


foreign wealth was concerned. They swore in open 
court, for Mr. Temple summoned them to appear and 
obliged them to take oath, that they received not suffi- 
cient from the assets to defray the expenses of their 
voyage. 

Of this Juliet was disposed to believe not a word. 
Her brothers-in-law had ever been ill-disposed toward 
her because she married for love, and looked down on 
Temple because he had industriously labored for his 
wealth instead of having received it, like themselves, 
from dishonest or thrifty grandfathers. She believed 
they had connived together to enrich themselves at her 
expense. 

Here, then, was another ground for anxiety. She 
begged Mr. Temple to institute legal proceedings, and 
have the matter thoroughly sifted. Mr. Temple liked 
no man to believe he was to be tamely cheated, and was 
at first disposed to accede to Juliet’s suggestion. Upon 
farther reflection, however, he thought it wiser to let the 
matter drop. Aside from anxiety, the expenses would 
be great. His adversaries had taken time by the fore- 
lock, and had taken care doubtless to cover up their 
tracks. 

He was now independent ; his business needed all 
his attention; he would not risk the certain for the 
uncertain. He would look out for his share yet unap- 
propriated in the city, though Captain St. Leger, at his 
last visit home, had given deed to Juliet of the house 
she since her marriage had occupied. 

But the settlement of the St. Leger estate does not 
materially concern us. It had the effect, however, of 
completely alienating J uliet from her sisters. 


142 


Hubert’s wife. 


Leonora was still childless, though she had so far 
changed her resolution as to have received two children 
into her house. She could scarcely have done other- 
wise, It had been announced by letter from Philip 
that a cargo of eleven children from his mission were 
about to sail, and would reach New York at about a 
given time. Three of these children were his, and he 
hoped his sisters would find places for them in their 
families, and interest themselves in seeking good homes 
for the remaining others. 

Philip wrote that expediency alone could have 
induced them to part with the dear children. Their 
hearts were torn asunder, etc., etc. The touching let- 
ter was read from the preacher’s desk. There was not 
a dry eye in the house, nor a heart that did not long to 
clasp the foreign missionary waifs. The trouble was 
not in getting homes in sufficient number for the chil- 
dren — there were not enough children for the homes 
offered. It would be such a blessed privilege to have 
a missionary’s child in the house. The various Judson 
children that were scattered liere and there were per- 
petual curiosities. Their very presence was enough to 
sanctify, dignify, and make illustrious any house 
wherein they might dwell. 

There never occurred to Philip when he wrote, to the 
city preacher when he read, nor to tlie congregation 
who listened to the pathetic story of the hearts torn 
asunder,” an idea as to the incompatibility of mission- 
ary life with raising a family of children; nor that 
each and every missionary father had better liave given 
his heart a decided wrench in the beginning, by abstain- 


Hubert’s wife. 


143 


ing from marriage, than have been a victim to perpetual 
domestic anxiety and have suffered such ever-recurring 
wounds. 

At first Leonora had taken Philip’s three children, 
although a childless, wealthy couple had offered to 
adopt the eldest, a boy of nine years. He was hand- 
somer and finer looking than his two little sisters, who 
were both quiet and pretty. Leonora thought she 
should have something to be proud of in the boy, who 
was a St. Leger thoroughly, and might readily enough 
be mistaken as her own son. 

She was not long, however, in discovering that she 
had taken more upon herself than she could bear. 
This handsome nephew was the exact counterpart of 
what his father had been at similar early age. Leon- 
ora remembered well that Philip had been an imp of 
mischief, and that she had suffered torments on his 
account. This young Marius — named for Mary Selby 
in full — like his father before him, seemed to think his 
young sisters made for no earthly purpose but for his 
amusement. If they were out of his presence he was 
wretched ; when with them he left them no peace ; he 
would fling at them paper darts, almost strangle them 
with an impromptu lasso, demolish their playhouse, 
decapitate their dolls, and do all the mischief his really 
inventive genius could suggest. 

Leonora knew how worse than vain would be all 
reasoning with such a subject. The example of her 
brother was all she needed. She took him in her car- 
riage, and set him down, with his baggage, at the door 
of the wealthy couple who had been so anxious to gain 


144 


nUBERT^S WIF^5, 


possession of him. She was not surprised, two weeks 
later, to learn that he had been transferred to the family 
of the Presbyterian clergyman, nor shortly after to be 
informed that a collection had been taken up among 
the wealthy members of the church for his education 
at a country school; to this she was invited to con- 
tribute, which she did liberally. 

Captain St. Leger had given all his city property to 
his daughters, leaving his only son unprovided for. 

As to Estelle, Mrs. Lang, she rejoices in five daugh- 
ters, which, added to her four sons, makes her family 
equal in number, if not in degree, to that of Queen 
Victoria’s. She has had a wing added to her already 
extensive mansion, wherein she has had her children 
installed, with their nurses at command, one being an 
aged lady, trusty and faithful. Unlike Juliet, Estelle 
became wise enough to give over fretting and borrow- 
ing trouble. She goes much into society, though less 
devoted to it than her elder sister, but looks considerably 
to her household affairs, and on the whole makes a tol- 
erable wife and mother. She would be religious per- 
haps if she knew how to be. But this she has never 
learned at St. Mark’s Church, and she knows not where 
else to go. 



CHAPTER XVIII. 

ST. MARKUS OR ST. PATRICK’S ? 

FEW months later, and Juliet Temple, 
with her niece and children, returned from 
St. Mark’s, whither they had been for 
morning service. 

^^I declare this is the last time I shall go out to 
church while this hot weather continues,” exclaimed 
Juliet, throwing herself upon the parlor lounge, not 
having suiScient strength to mount the stairs. I was 
a dunce for going to-day,” she continued, having panted 
awhile for breath, and fanning herself with a feather 
fan; ^Hhere were but few out; almost none at all of 
the fashionables. Let me see ; there was Dr. Elfelt’s 
pew vacant, the Shreves’ vacant, the Dunns’, and the 
Quackenboss’; not one of the Herricks, Messengers, 
nor Livingstons there ; you’ll not catch me there again 
with only such a common crowd ; it is high time Dr. 
Browne shut up for the summer, though somebody said 
he wasn’t going to shut up this summer, there has been 
such a hue and cry in the papers about this shutting up 
of churches ; but he might as well, I can warn him, or 
he will preach to empty pews ; it beats all, and to-day 
Was communion day, too; I should have thought 





146 


Hubert’s wife. 


more would have turned out ; but, I declare, I thought 
I should smother when I went up to the rails ; and, to 
cap all, that old Mrs. Godfrey, who weighs at least 
three hundred, came and knelt close by me, and just 
completely crushed all one side of my flounces ; I was 
provoked and indignant; this, added to the intense 
heat, was almost insupportable ; but here I am again, 
thank God. O, Althea, you look so cool and comfort- 
able ; won’t you come, please, and fan me a minute — 
untie my hat, and take away my gloves and scarf, 
they are like so many fire-coals. It is too bad to 
make a servant of you, dear, but that is just the way, 
the girls stay so long at their Mass, as they call it; I 
wouldn’t have Catholic girls just for this very reason, 
that they insist always upon going to Mass, only that 
I really can trust a good Catholic girl better than any- 
one else. If a girl calls herself Catholic, but is not 
particular about her religious duties, I am on the 
watch for her; but a girl that insists upon going 
through thick and thin, heat and cold, such a girl I 
trust in spite of me. Now, Johnny, bring me a glass 
of ice- water, dear. And daughter, if you will just step 
Up to my room and bring my salts, you will be a dar- 
ling. Dear me ! shall I ever get cool again ? if you 
will just bring me that sofa pillow, but no, it will be 
too hot. I wish I had a nice pillow from my own 
bed, the linen slips would be so refreshing.” 

Althea started to go for one, when her aunt pleased 
again to change her mind. 

On the whole, I think now I will be able to go 
up stairs, and you can unlace my tight boots, they 


HUBERT^S WIFE. 


147 


are just killing my poor feet, and I can get into my 
wrapper ; yes, that will be nice.^^ 

And Juliet started briskly for her chamber. She 
met her daughter at the foot of the stairs with the 
tiny cut-glass bottle. 

You can bring it back ; I have concluded to go up 
myself; and, Johnny, that is right, my son, bring the 
waiter up stairs, where, if I am not completely exhausted 
first, I will try to get comfortable.^^ 

The stream of Juliet’s talk ceased not to flow, while 
her niece, son, and daughter flew hither and thither, as 
was dictated by her caprice. 

At length, in her snowy wrapper, she half reclined 
gracefully upon an equally snowy lounge, which she 
had ordered drawn to the darkest corner of the room. 

^^Now, Johnny and Flora dear, you can go anywhere 
you please, until the girls come and lunch is served. 
Althea will stay and fan me, and perhaps I can sleep,” 
said this selfish woman, languidly closing her eyes. 

She had done talking enough for any one member 
of a sociable; and Althea, commendably preserving 
her patience, devoutly hoped the poppy“god, of which 
she had lately been reading in her Virgil, would 
shower well the eyelids of her Aunt. Vain hope! 
The uneasy tongue again commenced : 

^‘1 wonder how your uncle endures it! Every 
week-day at his counting house — every Sunday twice 
at Mass, and then again at Vespers. It is all of six 
months now since this very pious fit came over him. 
And strange to say, I believe I brought it about 
myself. I never had given up the notion of his com- 


148 


Hubert’s avife. 


ing around to be with me a High Churchman. He 
always was the most honest soul — the offer of thrones 
and kingdoms could never induce him to tell a lie — 
but as to what he called his religious duties, he liad 
become very careless ; I could easily coax him to stay 
from Mass when I did not feel like dressing for St. 
Mark’s, but about six months ago, I think it was, I 
undertook to convert him to my way of thinking, and 
to make him see how vain and wicked these Romish 
practices Avere, Avhen he astonished me by his earnest 
defence of them, and ever since he is a perfect enthu- 
siast ; Avouldn’t stay from Mass if the house Avas on 
fire, and if you Avould belie\^e it, is actually insisting 
that the children shall go Avith him Avhenever they 
don’t go with me ; next thing Avill be to take them 
Avlth him anyhow, and the idea of having Johnny and 
Flora brought up to believe that it is a mortal sin to 
be absent from Mass, even Avhen the day is scalding 
hot, or piping cold ! That is downright tyranny. I 
Avould ncA^er endure it! It is Avell I Avas never brought 
up a Catholic ; they’d find a rebel in me, sure. All 
the priests, and Bishops, and the Pope, and a hundred 
like him, couldn’t oblige me to go to church, if I Avas 
not a mind. And Althea, only think of it, your 
Uncle, good as he is, every month noAV goes on his 
knees to Father Duffy and confesses his sins I That 
is too much. Your uncle, Althea, if I do say it, Avho 
am his wife, is the best man in the Avorld — the very 
best, and the idea! Why, I believe it is the other 
Way, and this priest, Mr. Duffy, had better go on his 
knees to my husband— he Avould have more to say, 


HUBERT'S WIFE. 


149 


I'll wager, John Temple is sensible upon everything 
else, but upon the matter of his religion he has become 
childish and absurd. I believe he would give me up 
and the children too, dearly as he loves them, rather 
than his religion. There he is at last," she exclaimed 
eagerly, as the hall door opened below, and a man's 
foot was heard ascending the stairs. 

O John ! I am so glad you have come. You have 
almost been the death of me though, you naughty 
man." 

How so, J uliet ? " 

Why, did you not tell me when I objected to going 
to St. Mark's that if I did not go and take the children 
you should take them with you ? " 
did." 

Well, of course, rather than to have them go to 
that Irish Church, I made a martyr of myself and 
went with them to St. Mark's, but it is for the last 
time this summer, I can promise you. Why, I have 
al jiost died with the heat." 

It is a very warm day, unusually warm for the 
se !^on," was the only response. 

And is that all, John, that you have to say ? You 
are not going to take the children hereafter to church 
with you, when it is impossible for me to go with 
them to St. Mark's ? " 

That is what I told you, J uliet. I have thoroughly 
made up my mind, and " 

O, don't tell me you have made up your mind," 
cried the lady hysterically, who knew from a twelve 
years' experience that John Temple's made-up mind 
13 * 


150 


HUBERT’S WIFE. 


was like an adamantine wall to all her feeble mis- 
siles. 

Juliet/^ he replied firmly, will no longer see 
our children growing up without religious training. 
And this very day I have formed a new resolution. 
Johnny and Flora are to go with me every morning 
to early Mass. This is a subject which must be no 
longer neglected ; and here Mr. Temple, having 
loosened his neck-tie, and donned dressing-gown and 
slippers, took up the fan that Althea had dropped 
upon his entrance, and seated himself by his wife. 

Juliet, as usual, betook herself to tears. But tears 
did not always drown her tongue; certainly not upon 
this occasion. 

don’t see how it is possible for a man, gener- 
ally so kind and good, to make himself so obstinate 
and disagreeable. You don’t find me so obstinate ; do 
I not often yield to you, John Temple, I would like to 
know ? ” 

You look upon but one side, Juliet; we are man 
and wife ; our religions are different. I speak not of 
yours, I know only my own, and this, my own reli- 
gion, binds me to bring up my children in the fear 
and love of God. You may, for some reasons, be 
attached to your religious service, but the rules of 
your Church have no binding force upon you. For 
you it is no sin to allow your children to attend Mass. 
Your Church claims to be a branch of ours, admits 
ours to be the true Church of Christ, from which it 
sprang. In attending Mass with me, your children 
are still within the fold of the Church, With me it 


Hubert’s wife. 


151 


is different. I believe in but one Church. All others 
so-called, however well-intentioned, have not the ban- 
ner of Christ, not unto them were given the promises 
of our Divine Lord. For me it is a mortal sin to 
allow my children any longer to remain in their pres- 
ent state. Johnny should have been already well 
instructed, and ready for First Communion and Con- 
firmation.’’ 

John! when you know I am so dreadfully 
opposed to it, how can you insist upon having the 
dear children brought up in such a way. It will 
ruin their prospects for life. Likely as not Johnny 
would become a cruel priest, and our sweet little 
Flora would be dragged into a convent.” 

Don’t be a fool, Juliet,” said Mr, Temple, losing 
his patience, ^^who talks about dragging people into 
convents ? Not Catholics. Have you not confidence 
in me, and will you not believe when I assure you I 
could not ask a higher, nobler place for our children 
than that you so deprecate ? Thus far have I yielded 
to you in this matter. But, Juliet, who has made me 
father and master in this house ? Unto God shall I 
have to render my account; and though I would 
spare your feelings, I must still be true to my con- 
science.’' 

As far as the religion itself goes, I don’t care so 
much,” responded J uliet, attempting to dry her eyes 
with her handkerchief, already saturated, but what 
grieves me to the heart, what I cannot bear nor toler- 
ate is this association with the low and vulgar,” the 
one idea still uppermost in the weak woman’s mind. 


152 


HUBERT^S AnFE. 


J uliefc, are you never to have thoughts higher than 
those that pertain to society and fashion ? Do you never 
think the time is surely coming when you must give up 
all these things toAvhich you are attached, when death 
must come to you, and a new life, and have you no care 
as to what that life shall be?” 

The lady shivered and covered up her eyes. 

Why do you talk thus to me? Do you not know 
that I have a perfect horror of such things ? O, John, 
the very thought of dying almost distracts me. Must 
we all die ? How I wish we could live forever, and 
never grow old! When we get very old, John, then, 
if I should be taken sick, I want you to hold me 
strong by the hand that death may not take me.” 

But, Juliet, if you should be taken sick before 
you are old ? ” . 

I have no fear, John, while you are with me, even 
though I be sick. Do you not know, have you not 
learned, that I fear nothing when with you, and have 
a good hold of your hand ? In a thunder-shower I 
am so timid without you, I think every bolt is to 
strike me ; if you are near, but you must be close, I 
have no fear. It seems nothing can harm me if you 
are by. So, John, while I have you, I have no fear 
of death.” 

Mr. Temple had dropped the fan, and J uliet’s two 
little hands were nestled in his strong, broad palms. 
He looked with tenderness into the face upturned so 
trustfully to his. 

^^But if I should die, Juliet, and you should not 
have me ? ” 


Hubert’s avife. 


153 


Juliet gave a piercing scream and threw herself into 
her husband’s arms. Was it for the first time such a 
thought had ever been presented to her mind ? Life 
without her husband ! She could not conceive of it. 
It seemed as if he had always been with her • as 
though he had become so much a part of herself that 
she could not live without him. For, though she 
wearied and annoyed him, teased, opposed, and vexed 
him, she loved him beyond all things, even her chil- 
dren. Beneath all her vanity, folly, and thoughtless- 
ness throbbed one passion deepest of all, love for her 
husband. 

^^My poor little wife,” said John Temple, when he 
could again speak, I am frail and human, but there 
is One mighty and eternal. I am weak and erring, 
but there is One strong and infallible. Put your 
trust in One worthier than I ; lay your hand in His 
who shall lead you by the still waters of peace ; in 
His which shall never fail you, neither in life, death, 
nor eternity.” 




CHAPTER XIX 

IN SUCH AN HOUR AS YE THINK NOT.” 

URING the following week Juliet Temple 
w^as more serious than usual. She oft^m 
found herself wondering why her husban.d 
had spoken to her in such mournful words. 
They haunted her the more she attempted to drive 
them away; she could not even reflect with indi^g- 
nation upon his avowed purpose as regarded the chil- 
dren. His solemn tones and manner had taken the 
sting from his unwelcome resolutions. 

Once she referred to the subject : 

Your sermon of last Sunday has sunk deep in niy 
heart. It is the only sermon that has ever done me 
any good — or harm,” she added. 

I did not intend to trouble you ; but you know I 
would like to see you more thoughtful.” 

Had John Temple taken this course long ago with 
his wife, she would have become perhaps a wiser, bet- 
ter woman. But he loved peace and quiet; and he 
probably thought also that no serious words from him 
could make impression upon her preoccupied, imper- 
vious mind. 

John Temple was true to his word. For several 



Hubert’s wife. 


155 


mornings his children were kneeling by his side at 
Mass, ere their mother had awakened from her slum- 
bers. He himself heard their daily lessons in Cate- 
chism, 

When Saturday came around Juliet began to think 
about the children going to St. Patrick’s next day. 
She was so surprised at herself for having acquiesced 
so readily. True, she knew it was no use to combat 
her husband upon the point, but she might not have 
appeared to him to yield so easily. Instead, however, 
of any disposition to disapprove, she began to think 
how it would be were she to go herself. Pshaw! 
Where was all her pride, that she should begin to 
think of going to church with her Jim, Bridget, and 
Ann ? But somehow, for the first time, she did not 
like to think of her husband going without her. He 
had spoken so solemnly of the possibility of his some 
time leaving her ! Hereafter she should feel as if he 
must not go out of her sight. She put away her 
embroidery for her crochet. In turn, her crochet was 
tedious, and dropping it, she took up a book which 
her husband had been reading at leisure moments the 
last day or two. 

The book she had never before observed. It was 
The Following of Christ,” She opened where was 
his mark ; and this mark was, for this time, a tiny 
rose she had handed him that very morning. She 
pressed to her lips the rose, which was yet fragrant, 
though faded. She commenced to sing carelessly : 

Ye may break, ye may ruin the vase if ye will, 

But the scent of the roses will hang round it still, 


156 


Hubert’s wife. 


when the heading of the Chapter, which the rose had 
marked, caught her eye, Of the thoughts of death.” 

A very little while and all will be over with thee 
here. See to it, how it stands with thee in the next 
life. Man to-day is, and to-morrow he is seen no 
more. If thou art not prepared to-day, how wilt 
thou be to-morrow ? 

To-morrow is an uncertain day, and how knowest 
thou if thou shalt have to-morrow ? ” 

‘‘ No wonder his mind is sober and solemn, with such 
reading as this,” mused Juliet, but she continued. 

Fire bells commenced to ring. AVas this so uncom- 
mon an occurrence as to cause Juliet to drop her book 
and press her hand to her heart ? 

What does it mean ? I am so fearfully nervous. 
It is not our house that is on fire.” 

She walked to a window ; ah, the fire was near, but 
a few squares distant ; the slight wind, however, would 
bear it in an opposite direction. There was no occa- 
sion for fear. Juliet took up her book again, and read 
a few pages. She was reading these passages a second 
time, and with something like a thrill of awe, for they 
seemed to be spoken to herself : 

Be therefore always in readiness, and so live that 
death may never find thee unprepared. 

Many die suddenly and unprovidedly ; for the Son 
of Man will come at the hour when He is not looked 
for. 

When that last hour shall have come, then thou 
wilt begin to think far otherwise of all thy past life ; 
and great will be thy grief that thou hast been so 
neglectful and remiss.” 


HUBERT^S WIFE. 


157 


Tlie door-bell rang violently. Juliet made an effort 
to rise from her chair, but sank back weak as an infant. 
Her face turned deadly pale, and she clenched the closed 
book in her pallid hands. 

There was a confused sound in the room below ; the 
tread of men and subdued voices. Suddenly, above 
these, she caught a groan. This broke the spell ; she 
flew rather than walked to the small parlor so strangely 
occupied. 

A knot of men separated slightly as she drew near. 
O God of Heaven, was that her husband? John 
Temple, who went out a few hours ago brave and 
strong, in the full vigor of beautiful manhood, 
blighted, disfigured, burned in the fiery furnace ? 

My child, my child,^’ had a frantic woman screamed 
as she was borne down a ladder in the powerful arms 
of a fireman. 

My child,’^ she still cried from the ground, her eyes 
upraised to the window of flame, her hands clasped in 
pleading agony. Eager eyes looked upward, but even 
brave hearts hesitated to rush into the sea of flame. 

It was madness, but John Temple ventured. They 
would have held him back, but in that supreme moment 
of supernatural exaltation of courage he Was strong as 
well as bold. As he would others should do for him so 
would he do for them. It was the thought of his wife 
and children that nerved him to such heroic, desperate 
effort, and alas, so unavailing ! 

Streams of water had darkened the fiery masS^ and 
hope began to whisper to the eager crowd. 

Yes, John Temple stepped out upon the slippery, 

U 


158 


HUBEET^S WIFE. 


blackened ladder, grasping the inanimate form of a 
little child. Loud cheers rent the air. But they 
pierced the hearts of those who bent over the sense- 
less forms of the deliverer and the child. Most of 
their clothing, their hair, and eyebrows were burned, 
they were fearfully scarred, and worse than all they 
had breathed the flames! Physicians were on the 
ground, prompt assistance was rendered, and John 
Temple again drew breath. With the child there was 
a moan, a gasp, and all was over. 

This was the result of a kerosene explosion. So 
instant had been the ignition of everything combusti- 
ble that nearly the whole interior was in flames beftre 
assistance could ^arrive. Stout engines played but 
upon useless debris, and saved only unsightly walils. 

Some friend of John Temple had run for the priest, 
and by the time he was laid in his own house Father 
Dufiy too had arrived. The sufferer had become sen- 
sible, but could not speak. He was evidently in fear- 
ful agony. 

Three physicians looked at each other and shook 
their heads. They had the wife to care for now, who, 
with piercing shrieks, fell insensible at their feet. 

^^Will you leave me alone with him a moment,^^ 
said the priest, and the others withdrew, bearing away 
the stricken woman. 

It was but for a few moments indeed. The dying 
man could only make signals in answer to questions, 
and received the Viaticum with eyes raised in thank- 
fulness. The physicians had not been able to get him 
to swallow, but this blessed bread of life, this com- 


HUBERT^S WIFE. 


159 


forter by the way, this solace and support through the 
dark valley, nature nor sufifering did refuse. It was 
pitiful to see him attempt to fold in reverence his 
inflamed and swollen hands, and to make, as his last 
expiring effort, the beloved sign of our holy religion. 

To John Temple death had come suddenly indeed, 
but not unprovidedly. He had been moved, no doubt 
by heavenly inspiration, to make a general confession 
only the Sunday previously. And Father Duffy had 
reason to believe it had been made with that care, dil- 
igence, and fullness as if he had known it to have 
been his last. We have seen what an impression had 
been made upon his mind in his^ interview with his 
wife. 

Upon recovering consciousness, Juliet demanded to 
be admitted to her husband. Disguises and delays 
she would not brook, and they led her back. Her 
children were now there, and Althea, and further 
back the servants. These latter were upon their 
knees, with the priest, saying prayers for the dead. 

Let us here draw a veil. We have been disgusted 
with Juliet, out of all patience with her levity and 
unwomanliness, but we sympathize in her unutterable 
grief. Hard must be the heart unmoved by those 
wildest moans, those saddest plaints. 

Do not weep,^^ said Dr. Browne to her after the 
funeral, it is vain, worse than vain.^^ 

Only tears are left me,^^ she half-uttered. 

Your children ! 

They only speak to me of him.^^ 

But yourself ; for your own sake do not thus yiel(J 
to immoderate grief.^^ 


160 


HUBERT^S WIFE. 


I tell you, Dr. Browne, my heart shall dash itself 
against this sorrow till it break — break ! she ex- 
claimed wildly. 

But this is not Christian submission.^^ 
am not a Christian, Dr. Browne; you cannot 
expect from me submission. Do you expect grapes 
from thorns ? 

Not a Christian, Mrs. Temple ? 

You know I am not a Christian, Dr. Browne ! I 
have never known but one Christian in my life, and 
that was John Temple,^^ 

Dr. Browne felt somewhat scandalized. A member 
of his church to say boldly she had never known but 
one Christian, and that Christian a Roman Catholic ; 
was it not incomprehensible? But then Mrs. Temple 
was not now in her usual mind. Due allowance must 
be made, and he would seek a more favorable oppor- 
tunity for renewing the subject. He arose to leave. 
What shall I do, Dr. Browne ? I cannot bear day 
nor night; life is a torture ; I cannot bear life, nor can 
I endure to think of death. O, help me. Dr. Browne.’^ 
Only God can help you, Mrs. Temple, and I pray 
that His grace may be sufficient for you.^^ 

^^But you forget that I have no God.^^ 

Mrs. Temple, yoil are beside yourself. No God ? 

^^Nol He is afar off, or I am shut out from Him. 
I have never known Him* I cannot pray to Him.^^ 
When you shall be more collected I will call again. 
Meantime, you will find much comfort in our Book of 
Common Prayer. Have recourse to it and to the throne 
of grace.^^ 


hubekt’s wife. 161 

Juliet abandoned herself as much to remorse as to 
grief. 

She had had the best of husbands ; she had been to 
him the worst of wives. As in a mirror, she saw all her 
past life. She remembered how fretful and fault-find- 
ing she had been ; how difficult to please, how unlovely 
she had made herself. If John could come back, only 
just long enough for her to tell him how very, very 
sorry she was, how much she loved and respected him, 
how he had always done everything right, and she had 
been ever in the wrong ; but he could not come even 
for that. She collected around her the various articles 
he had used ; among others, his rosary, crucifix and 
prayer-book. How careful he had been to keep them 
hidden away, where they might not offend her eye, or 
provoke her ridicule and sneer. She read every day, 
in the Following of Christ,’^ the chapter John had 
last read, which the faded rose still marked. 

In this was a kind of comfort, but there was peace 
nor rest in aught else. She walked the floor distract- 
edly, and wrung her hands and tore her garments. 
She shut herself up in the darkness, and stretched 
forth her hands and prayed the spirit of John to come 
back to her in pity. She would not admit her sisters ; 
her children she allowed to grieve alone. 

Suddenly, came back to her the memory of a look 
of pity and compassion, which she had forgotten. 
When she had returned, on that memorable day, to her 
husband, who had just breathed his last, as she raised 
her eyes, scarcely daring to let them fall upon the dear 
face, she encountered the gaze of Father Duffy. He 
14 * 


162 


HUBERT^S WIFE. 


had, unconsciously, looked upon this bereaved woman, 
whom he knew to be without the fold, therefore, with- 
out suitable consolation for this trying moment, as our 
dear Lord may be supposed to have looked upon Mary 
and Martha, when they informed Him that Lazarus, 
their brother, was dead. 

The remembrance of this compassionate look softened 
Juliet’s heart toward the priest. For the first time in 
her life, she began to think he might be something 
beside an impersonation of evil. To John he had 
been a father and a friend ; might not she have confi- 
dence in one he had so loved and trusted ? 

She began to wish he would call. She wondered 
he did not, if but to see after the children. He must 
be aware of John’s recent action in regard to them, 
perhaps may have counselled the same. The more she 
thought of this, the stronger, by degrees, became her 
desire to see and consult him. 

Juliet was what might be termed a person of one 
idea.” Not that her ideas never changed — she was 
very versatile ; but she was animated wholly by one 
idea at a time, to the exclusion of all others. Two 
weeks ago, the Catholic Irish priest was the last person 
she would have thought of with desire to see. Now, 
of all people in the world, it was [from Father Duffy 
she would seek counsel. 

She rang her bell, and when Ann appeared, thus 
addressed her : 

‘‘ You may do my hair, Ann ; I have changed my 
mind ; I thought I would never have it touched again 
by comb or brush, but I will. You need not be par- 


Hubert’s wife. 


163 


ticular ; only get the tangles out and let it hang ; you 
can find a black ribbon somewhere. I don’t care any 
more how I look, besides, I am only going to see your 
priest, Mr. Dufiy. He must be used to seeing people 
in all sorts of rigs. It would be different if I were to 
meet Dr, Browne. I would dress for him as for a 
king, once; but not now! I never shall care again 
how I look ; poor John cannot see me,” 

Sobs and tears choked further utterance. Ann gave 
a quick start, when her mistress mentioned the priest’s 
name. She could hardly believe she had heard aright. 
She was used to almost every caprice from Mrs. Tem- 
ple, but this last transcended every other. What did it 
portend ? 

!Mrs. Lang, who was about the size and height of 
Mrs. Temple, had kindly taken upon herself the care 
of procuring her sister’s mourning. Having submitted 
to all the troubles and inconveniences, she had, but the 
day before, sent home several dresses. She would her- 
self have accompanied them, had she not repeatedly 
been refused admittance to her sister. Juliet’s hair 
being finished, she ordered Ann to undo the small 
mountain of mourning goods, and select the plainest 
garment. And, after all, it was with much hesitation, 
and continued wringing of hands, and moans and 
lamentations, that she allowed herself to be arrayed in 
these insignias of her widowhood. She more than 
once gave up her purpose, only as often to resume it. 



CHAPTER XX. 

JULIET. 

, having completed her mistress’ unusual 
J oft-resisted toilet, received with sur- 
se a message to convey to Father Duffy, 
e glanced at Mrs. Temple, to discover if 
she were really in her right mind. Upon this j^oint 
she could not satisfy herself, for Juliet had buried her 
flushed face In the fresh handkerchief she had just givm 
her, and added but the words : ‘‘ go at once ! ” 

Father Duffy, but little past the prime of life. Was 
in the full vigor of energy and usefulness. A worker 
himself, he infused others with his spirit; droneish- 
ness wilted under the scorching rays of his perpetual 
activity, as weeds wither in the noon-day sun. He had 
accomplished wonders in his parish, and many another, 
less efficient than himself, might have supposed nothing 
more was to be done. Not so, thought Father Duffy. 
Literally and figuratively hills were to be brought down, 
and level places to be made smooth. 

By precept, and still more by example, he taught his 
people to bear their burdens heroically, their prosperity 
with humility, their adversity with pious resignation. 
He had little patience with indecision, still less with 





Hubert’s wife. 


165 


queruloiisness and complaints. With those of his 
class, he believed that one’s first fruits” should be 
given unto God. One’s best emotions, fullest love, 
highest loyalty, precious treasure. He had no faith in 
the piety of him, who, living in a costly dwelling, 
proposed to worship God in a habitation mean and 
contemptible ; nor in that of her, who, clad in a thou- 
sand-dollar shawl, would drop a five-cent upon the 
plate of ciiarity. 

He was as quick to perceive, as was his will to act, 
or his hand to do. He saw’ at once through all sham 
and artifice. He could be almost said to perceive what 
Avas passing through one’s mind, so quick was his dis- 
cernment, so penetrating his thought. He might have 
been a Jesuit, nor fallen a whit behind the most pol- 
ished and profound of that marvellous society of men. 

Poor Juliet ! To have sent for such a man, whose 
one glance could dissect her thoroughly ! But, let us 
wait ; maybe W’e shall have no occasion to repeat the 
epithet just applied to her name. 

Juliet little understood, indeed, was incapable of 
comprehending the nature of the man whom she had 
invoked into her presence. Otherwise, she w’ould never 
have sent for him. She had bestowed no particular 
thought upon him, anyhow; but he shared involunta- 
rily in that measure of contempt, which she ever had 
cherished for Roman Catholics in general. She was 
not one bit in awe of him, nor felt less hesitation in 
addressing him, than she would have done in speaking 
to a merchant’s clerk. 

I wish to sec you, Mr. Dulxy,” she said, upon enter- 


166 


Hubert’s avife. 


ing the little parlor, where she had met him the one 
time previously. The memory of that day, scarcely 
ten ago, came over her with such 'sudden distinctness, 
that she sank to the floor, beside the sofa upon which 
she had been about to seat herself, and groaned aloud. 

I fear you yield too immoderately to grief,” said 
the priest. 

I can never mourn enough for John Temple,” said 
the widow, disconsolately. 

Mr. Temple was a Avorthy man. AVe have all lost 
in his death; but Ave must not forget that he has 
gained.” 

I forget everything but that I am Avretched — the 
most Avretched creature in existence. I hate equally 
the light of day and the darkness of night. I Avould 
take my own life, only that I have such a horror of 
death.” 

If the priest felt horror at her expressions, he did 
not evince it ; but he said firmly : 

It is very Avrong for you, Mrs. Temple, to speak 
thus. God does not afflict His children Avillingly, 
nor ” 

I am no child of God,” broke in the unhappy 
Avoman, liiding her face in the crimson velvet of the 
lounge, against Avhich she leaned, for she still retained 
her position upon the floor, in utter disregard of con- 
ventionalities. 

Thougli you may not acknowledge God, He is none 
the less yoii*r Lord and Master. Your will opposed 
to His is as smoking flax. He has seen fit sorely to 
afflict you, and you arc utterly powerless. But, God 


Hubert’s wife. 


167 


does everything in wisdom. He has chastened you for 
your good, if you will but make a wise improvement 
of this dispensation.” 

You talk as if you think I am a Christian. But, 
I tell you I am not, and never was. I know nothing 
about God. I have never cared anything about Him. 
I have lived without Him, and as though He did not 
exist. But, I am left alone now. I have nobody in 
Heaven or on earth. I am afraid — as if I were on 
water, and about to sink, or, as if the heavens were 
to fall and crush me.” 

Yet God is near you. You have but to stretch 
forth your hand, and He will support you. Give Him 
your heart, and He will be a present help in time of 
trouble.” 

But, I cannot find Him ! And see, you do not 
tell me truly ; for 1 put forth my hand, and it falls 
back wearily. I know — I do not expect to see God as 
I see a person; but they tell about Faith that is as 
good as sight ; if I could only have that ! ” 

Are you willing to make sacrifices for that faith — 
what would you do, what give ? ” willing to test her 
sincerity. 

Do ! give ! I would sit in sackcloth and ashes ! 
Behold me upon the floor : I would even sink beneath 
it, I would walk upon coals of fire, tread upon thorns, 
seek rest upon a rack of torture ! And give ? O, 
have I not been robbed of my all ? I have nothing 
left to give ! ” and Juliet’s voice died out in a mournful 
wail. 

But all this would not bring you to God, unless 
you yield to Him your heart.” 


168 


Hubert’s wife. 


have 110 heart; it is in the grave with my hus- 
band.” 

Mrs. Temple, you will never find God while you 
cherish this spirit of selfish grief. Submission to His 
will. is your first duty. Were you a Catholic, I could 
instruct you. I know not how to conduct a Protest- 
ant to God, unless I lead her in Catholic ways. Are 
you prepared to be so led ? Or, madam, why did you 
send for me ? ” 

Juliet hesitated. 

I hardly know,” at length, I wished for some- 
body wlio had been dear to John. He loved you 
more than all the world beside, except us, of course. 
He Avas so satisfied with his religion ; his faith Avas so 
clear and full; he lived such a good life; and he used 
to say he OAved so much to you. I thought if you 
could teach me as you had done him, if I could 
become good as he Avas, that I Avould learn of you, if 
you Avould take the trouble, even though you Avere 
a Catholic priest.” 

^^You do not Avish then to become a Catholic, 
really ? ” 

No ; I do not. I Avish to find God ; or, to have 
such faith in Him, that I may believe as if I saAV Him. 
Can you help me to that ? ” 

I can,” replied the priest. God has appointed 
me to bring souls to Him. He has appointed the Avay 
also, and I cannot go out of that Avay. I Avarn you, 
therefore, in the beginning, that Avhile conducting you 
to the HeaA^enly City, I am not seeking to make of 
you simply a Catholic, but the convictions of your 


HUBERT^S WIFE, 


169 


mind and the fervor of your heart will be of the very 
spirit of Catholicity. Are you still willing to perse- 
vere ? 

I am. I have no fears of becoming a Catholic. 
I can judge for myself. I can never believe in the 
divinity of Mary; nor in the worship of the saints 
and the adoration of their relics ; nor in transubstan- 
tiation and miracles, and all those things; but you 
know what I want — and will you help me for John’s 
sake?” 

And for your own. But you Inust have confidence 
in me. And first, you must cease to believe that Cath- 
olics regard Mary, the Blessed Mother, as a divine per- 
son ; second, that they worship saints or their relics, 
and many another fallacy under which you labor. 
You must be willing to read and study, withdrawing 
your mind as much as possible from your bereave- 
ment, and giving certain time to the care of your 
children. In these matters you must be obedient, or I 
can promise no good result. Are you still resolved? ” 

It is my last hope,” thought Juliet, disheartened 
for a moment, and she bowed her head. 

^^You are sure you can help me,” said Juliet, 
imploringly, as would say one sick to the physician, 
in whom were placed all her hopes of life. 

And behold I am with you eVeU to the consum- 
mation of the world ” passed through the priest’s 
mind, and he answered, confidently: ^^Very sure, 
Mrs. Temple.” 

The friends of Juliet marvelled greatly, when it 
became known to them that she had sent foi? the Cath-^ 
15 


170 


Hubert’s wife. 


olic priest, and was actually seeking to learn the relig- 
ion of her late husband. For they looked at the matter 
in its true light, and smiled at her simplicity, in believ- 
ing she could be instructed in Protestantism by any 
Romish priest,” how good so ever he might chance to 
be. Against her own inclination, but from the advice 
of her new friend, she occasionally received her sisters 
and a few former acquaintances. They went away 
commiserating her condition, as being semi-imbecile, 
semi-lunatic. 

She will get over this, go in society, and marry 
again,” they prophesied. They were not the first false 
prophets who have arisen. 

A year later, when Juliet Temple was baptized into 
the Catholic Church, these same people said : 

They will get her into a convent, next, where she 
will awaken to a sense of her folly.” Another false 
prophecy, for Juliet did not enter a convent, though 
she had serious thoughts of doing so. Though she 
became not a Sister of Charity, in fact, she did in 
deed, and atoned in after years for the frivolousness 
of her early life, by] patient self-denials and well- 
directed benevolence. 

In the matter of Juliet’s conversion. Father Duffy, 
as in every thing else, had done his work well. The 
widow of John Temple was no half-way Christian. 
She had put forth her hand in the way directed, and 
God had lifted her into the light. With her feet upon 
the rock of ages, she no more trembled under the 
impression of sinking beneath slippery waters. 

She was not ashamed to be seen by her former fash-^ 


Hubert’s wife. 


171 


ionable friends wending her way to St. Patrick’s. 
When she knelt at the altar to receive the bread of 
life, she became not indignant” that any humble 
Bridget knelt by her side ; for, dearer to her the most 
lowly person who now had received the waters of 
Baptism than any lady who rode in her carriage. 
Through the priest, it was God’s work and marvellous 
unto all eyes. 




CHAPTER XXI. 


THE SPIDER AND THE FLY.^^ 



OTH Leonora and Estelle wrote to their dis- 
tant brother of the danger of his daughter. 
She was under the sole care of one who was 
fast becoming bewitched with the supersti- 


tions of Catholicism. 

Startled and bewildered, Philip St. Leger wrote at 
once for his daughter’s removal from the house of 
Juliet. During the few months remaining of her 
school-life, she should divide her time at the houses 
of her elder aunts. After that, she should take up her 
abode with her uncle, Duncan Lisle, at Ivennons. 
This latter arrangement, which had been always 
understood, seemed now to all parties doubly desira- 
ble. She would bo removed even from the city where 
Juliet Temple lived. For, of course, Juliet, like all 
converts, would not rest until she had made proselytes 
of all who should come witliin her influence. She had 
been much attached to her niece, and that niece was 
known to have had great afiection and respect for her 
late uncle, who had been to her a father. Truly, great 
danger was to be avoided, and soon as possible. Althea 
was removed to her Aunt Leonora’s, and forbidden to 


^ Hubert’s avife. 


173 


enter Juliet’s house Avitliout permission, and accompa- 
nied. 

Althea was now nearly sixteen ; she had emerged 
from the somewhat unpromising age, and had devel- 
oped into remarkable beauty. Distinguished as were 
all the St. Legers for fine personal appearance, none 
had ever equalled this child of Della, given to God 
with that mother’s expiring breath. 

With the beauty of her father, she possessed the 
winning gracefulness of her mother, with the best 
mental and moral qualities of both. As a scholar, she 
excelled in all her classes ; she had a real genius for 
music, poetry, and painting. With trifling effort she 
could execute most difficult pieces upon piano and 
harp. 

^^You have the hand of a master,” spake Signor 
Lanza proudly, to this his favorite pupil. 

II improvisatrice,” was she styled by her admiring 
associates, Avhom she amused by the hour Avith her 
extemj)orary effusions of rhyme. 

From all, you Avould have taken her to be from that 
land 

“ Where the poet’s lip and painter’s hand 
Are most divine. Where earth and sky 
Are picture both and poetry j 
Of Italy ” 

A Madame de Stael Avould have immortalized her as 
another Corrinne. 

HeUy me miserum ! Where shall Ave find goose-quill 
cruel and grey enough to write her down Avife of J ude 
Thornton Eush ? 

15 * 


174 


HUBERT^S WIFE. 


There are more things in heaven and earth, Hora- 
tio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy/^ 

Have you forgotten, dear reader, that September 
night after Ellice’s funeral ? How Duncan Lisle sat 
alone with Hubert, his child, before the bright fire, 
wliile the rain pattered against the pane, and the 
memory of the widowed man broke up into such a 
shower of reminiscences as almost, for the moment, to 
drown the fire of his grief? Do you remember that 
Philip St. Leger, returned from the East, came 
abruptly upon the scene, telling of Della’s death, 
and the little child left at the North? Well, was it 
not natural for us to think that Hubert and Althea, 
children of Della and * Ellice, the Pythias and 
Damon ” friends, should grow up and love each other, 
and marry at last, as they do in novels ? 

Yes, that was our pet scheme, indulged in to the last. 
But Ave are compelled to admit with the poet, that ^^best 
laid plans go oft astray.” We arc also compelled to 
think half wickedly Avith Amy — Avhat pity it Avas Jude 
Push fell doAvn a precipice breaking his neck, thus 
giving his Avife liberty to capture her OAvn good master 
— and Avhat pity it Avas too that J ude Thornton Push 
did not fall doAvn some precipice and did not break his 
neck before, spider-like, he had Avoven his fine Aveb, and 
said softly to Della’s daughter : 

Will you Avalk into my parlor?” 

For, something like a spider Avas Thornton Push. 
He Avas quite tall and too slender. His body was out 
of proportion to his long limbs, and his hands and feet 
had the remarkable faculty of protruding too far from 


HUBERT^S WIFE, 


175 


every garment, even those the tailor declared should 
be long enough this time. The ninth part of a man ’’ 
would seize the sleeve at the wrist with both hands, 
give a good jerk and an emphatic there ! But when 
Thornton Bush was ordered to lift his arm naturally, 
the wrist protruded like a turtle^s neck. 

He must be made of gutta percha,’^ soliloquized 
the discomfited tailor, giving him up as an incorrigi- 
ble non-fL 

The rather stooping shoulders and long neck sup- 
ported a splendid head for Thornton Bush. This was 
indeed his crowning attraction. Short silken curls of 
raven black clustered around it, shading a wide white 
forehead and delicately fashioned ear. He had a beau- 
tifully arched brow, heavily pencilled, within which a 
glittering black eye, too deep set, gleamed forth with 
unaccountable attraction. His nose was straight, small, 
but full of nerve. You would never guess from that 
handsome, firm-set mouth of his, where decision and 
resolution played about the cherry lips and dimpled 
chin, that he would have proved the coward and run 
from duty and from danger. No ; but then Thornton 
Bush was made up of contradictions. 

His mental and moral, like his physical organiza- 
tion, was full of angularities, discrepancies, and unhar- 
monious combinations. 

He could be gentle as the dove, but fierce as the 
tiger; kind and confiding as any child, but cruel and 
deceitful as Lucifer transformed. 

So opposite qualities arc seldom found combined. 

The most brave men arc often the most gentle; the 


176 


Hubert’s wife. 


most trustful are frank and open-hearted. To parody 
Byron’s eulogy on “ The wondrous three,” 

Nature has formed but one such — hush ! 

She broke the die in moulding Thornton Kush. 

What do you say ? Althea and Thornton married 
and not one word about the courtship, that most inter- 
esting of all portions of a love-history ! 

It was the tragedy of ^^the spider and the fly^’ 
enacted over again. We would but shudder to watch 
that wicked, sly, patient tarantula, coaxing, flattering, 
urging the poor little fly, whose bright wings are 
singed with his hot breath, and whose wonderful eyes 
are held fast by the fascination of his scintillant, unre- 
lenting gaze. 

It is to be hoped, dear reader, that you are not of 
that kind who love to gloat over horrors. If you are, 
you must turn to some modern journal of civilization 
which is able to satisfy you completely. But Althea 
and Thornton are not married yet, they are only going 
to be. 

After the lapse of a quarter of a century Duncan 
Lisle, for the second time, attended commencement 
exercises at Troy Female Seminary. Twenty-five 
years is but a dot upon Time’s voluminous scroll, yet 
in that brief space has been crowded infinite change. 
Madame X — having retired from the school of educa- 
tion and from the stage of life, has been succeeded 
first by Madame Y — , and again by Mademoiselle de 
V — . More than half the young ladies who had 
graduated with Della and Ellice, who had looked like 
angels in simple white and blue, liad lain down the 


Hubert’s wife. 


177 


burthens of life^ and were sleeping peacefully here and 
there. 

Duncan Lisle had not^ for four years^ seen his niece, 
and was not prepared for such startling developments 
of mind and person. He was proud to behold her 
queen of the school ; queen, both in beauty and men- 
tal accomplishments. He too might be forgiven for 
one daring thought that soared down to matchmaking. 
It was not very strange that, remembering his earliest 
wife and only sister, and thinking of his one beloved 
child, the thought should cross him of the beauty and 
fitness of a union between Hubert and Althea. I 
will send Althea’s picture across the ocean to Hubert ; 
I will write him to return home immediately,” was 
the conclusion of this good father. All parents have 
such pet schemes, to greater or less extent. 

The health of the master of Kennons had been for 
some time delicate. His jqurney North, undertaken 
partially for his own benefit as well as to accompany 
his niece to his home, proved rather injurious than 
otherwise. The excessively hot weather prevailing 
rendered the trip anything but agreeable, and he 
returned to Kennons much exhausted and debilitated. 

He lost no time in carrying out his resolution with 
regard to his son. He wrote him a letter full of tho 
praises of Althea, assuring him that the picturo 
enclosed failed in justice to the original. He also 
spoke of his own failing health and his great and 
increasing desire to behold him again. Hubert Lisle 
never received this letter; it never left the office at 
Flat Rock; indeed it was destroyed at Kennons. 


178 


IIUBERT^S WIFE. 


Thornton Rush had returned from Europe at the 
close of the war. Instead, however, of returning to 
Virginia, he had put up his shingle as a lawyer in one 
of the new States of the growing West. He had not 
forgiven his mother that she had allowed his several 
letters to go unanswered. 

Two years had he now been at Windsor, among the 
wilds and roughnesses of a new country ; still had his 
mother for him no Avord of congratulation, encourage- 
ment, or even recognition. 

When Eusha Lisle read her husband’s intercepted 
letter, thereby discovering his designs as to the hand 
of Althea, a new thought struck her. 

It will be remembered that she took special deligat 
in rendering others uncomfortable, and in setting up 
an opposition to everybody’s plans. Against Hubert 
she had entertained a perpetual ill-feeling. Was lie 
not the child of her rival ? Should he win for bride 
this sweet child of sixteen, whose transcendent loveli- 
ness made an impression even upon her own unsuscep- 
tible heart ? 

Had she not surreptitiously gained access to her hus- 
band’s last will and testament, Vv^herein he had made his 
sister’s child co-heiress with Hubert to all his estate ? 

What could be expected of Rusha Lisle but instant 
action to the following effect : First, to break her long 
silence to her son by enclosing him the picture designed 
for Hubert, and cordially inviting him to make her a 
visit at Kennons, where he would find the beautiful 
original. 

Mrs. Lisle kept her own counsel, never intimating a 


Hubert’s wife. 


179 


wish or expectation of her son’s return. Her surprise 
upon his arrival was well counterfeited ; nor was it ever 
known beyond mother and son that the latter had not 
been first to make the overture. But this son, in some 
respects so like his mother, might have evinced less dis- 
position to do at once her bidding had not the induce- 
ments licld forth been all-sufficient, 

Thornton Bush was not a lady’s man. Byron was 
made miserable on account of the deformity of his 
foot. So our less distinguished but equally sensitive 
hero had always the impression that his long wrists 
and ankles were subjects of ridicule. He believed the 
ladies did not fancy him ; he therefore made no efforts 
to propitiate their favor. If they happened to laugh 
in his presence — and the foolish things are always 
happening to laugh — he made sure it was at himself; 
and he shot at them most vengeful flashes from his 
cavernous orbs, which annihilated them not at all, but 
rendered them more risible. 

But there is a tide in the affairs of men.” 

There is a hand that shapes our ends, rough-hew 
them as we will.” 

The inanimate picture at which Thornton Rush 
gazed did not laugh at him. On the contrary, it 
looked up to him with such a sweet confiding trust — 
O, there was something in that face he had seen in 
none other. It wonderfully attracted him. Even had 
it not, ho would have made every effort to win 
Althea’s heart just the same; and for the very rea- 
sons that had instigated his mother. He hated 
Hubert Lisle. To thwart him he would have cir- 


380 


HUBERT^S WIFE. 


cumvented heaven and earth. With Thornton Eush 
this consideration weighed even more than Althea’s 
promised dowry. 

Spite, revenge, avarice, every worst passion should 
be gratified in the accomplishment of a union with 
Althea. 

Unfortunately, the situation of things at Kennons 
favored this wretched wooing. Duncan Lisle was 
failing rapidly, and had become confined to his room. 
Above all others, he loved Althea to be with him; 
but he knew, and upon this his Avife enlarged, that 
she should be allowed considerable recreation. 

When, therefore, Eusha Lisle came in to take the 
neice’s place, insisting upon the latter taking a ride or 
drive, her uncle would join in the request, and Althea 
was compelled to go. Nor was it such a hardship. 
Thornton was ever ready to accompany her. And 
now, in presence of this guileless girl, he did, indeed, 
seem transformed. He was attentive, kind and gentle, 
he hastened to comply with her every Avish, to antici- 
pate all. 

For the first time in his life, he put a curb upon his 
violent temper. He became kind, even to his horse 
and liis dog — Avhen in her presence. Discovering her 
taste for poetry, he sat up nights to commit to memory 
Avhole pages of her favorite Scott and Moore, Bryant 
and Longfellow, which he Avould repeat to her Avith 
exceeding force and appropriateness. 

Thornton’s voice Avas as contradictory as the rest. 
It could be soft or harsh, musical or discordant. To 
Althea it Avas only pleasant and gentle ; and, by degrees, 
came to possess for lier a Avonderfnl cliarm. 


Hubert’s avife. 


181 


Mrs. Lisle, so disagreeable to all’ others, had prac- 
ticed remarkable effort and self-control in making her- 
self agreeable to this young girl, whom she would fain 
help to draw within her son’s meshes. 

Mr. Lisle’s first letter to his son, to which we have 
referred, Avas not his last. But every missive, more 
earnest than the former, met Avith the fate of the first. 
Every day he AA^aited anxiously for the coming of the 
mail. It seemed all that interested him. It Avas pit- 
iful to see his daily disappointments, the dying out of 
every renewed hope. 

This constant alternation of hope and despair, Avith 
constant suspense, shortened his days. 

He died suddenly at the last, his expiring gaze upon 
the portrait of Ellice that, as of old, still hung over 
the mantle. 

Did Mrs. Lisle, in presence of death itself, experi- 
ence no scruple in having kept the son from his dying 
father? Would she ever feel remorse of conscience 
in this Avorld, or in the next? At all events, she 
expedited in every possible manner the Avooing and 
Avinning of Althea. Was there in Heaven no guar- 
dian angel for tliis motherless child? Was not her 
very name suggestive of protection from above ? Had 
Della’s last prayer on earth failed to reach the throne 
of Grace and Mercy ? 

Xo obstacle appeared in the AA^ay, after the only one 
Avas removed by death. Thornton began to talk about 
a return to his nortliAvestern home. His business 
Avould still further suffer by a more protracted stay* 
Already he had been informed of the debut of a rival; 
IG 


182 


Hubert’s wife. 


one Capt. Sharp, upon his own field of law and pol- 
itics. A Captain for four years in the U nion army — 
what a claim irresistible would that be upon the good 
will and votes of the people! What a tempting bait 
for the Republican leaders to throw out to the multi- 
tude of small fish ! 

But how could he go back alone, after having lived 
two months in tlie light of Althea’s presence ? So he 
pleaded his suit to the gentle girl, veiling still more 
his fierce claw^s with the velvet glove, realizing Shaks- 
peare’s 

One may smilo and smile, and be a villain. 

Thornton Rush won his bride, and carried back to 
his northern home the young girl whose grace and 
beauty dazzled every eye. 




CHAPTEE XXII. 

ALTHEA. 

EVERAL years have passed. We find 
Althea a matron of twenty or more, but 
did we not know her age, we might think 
her five 3"ears older. She has not lost her 
beauty; though it is of a softer, more pensive kind. 
She is a gentle, quiet woman, beloved by the people 
of Windsor, for she makes no pretensions, and they 
have no shadow of suspicion that she deems herself 
their superior. But it is a never-ceasing wonder to the 
good and discerning that she ever came to marry 
Thornton Rush. 

Thornton Rush is a man of mark. He has his friends 
and his foes. To those whom he deems worthy of con- 
ciliating, will he fawn and cringe. Those whom he 
despairs of making his friends, or those whose friend- 
ship may do him no good, he alienates determinedly, 
and without scruple. 

For four years has he waged a perpetual warfare 
with the Captain. The odds would have been against 
him, had he not in his wife possessed one advantage. 
While Mrs. Sharp possessed by nature the qualities 
expressed by her name> and made herself unpopular 





184 


Hubert’s wife. 


to the good women of Windsor, Althea, without pre- 
meditation or effort, was a universal favorite. Thornton 
Rush was well aware of this advantage, and he made 
the most of it. 

Like many another man, he did not like to come 
home and find his wife gone. He missed her as he 
Avould the sun from day. Althea was much inclined 
to remain at home; and Thornton would not often have 
d chance to grumble upon this score. He was not 



to habits of self-denial ; nevertheless, to secure 
good will and triumph over Sharp, he would encourage 
Althea to make frequent visits — nay, often insist upon 
it, against her inclination and his own private Avish. 
If his wife could serve his policy, Avell and good. 
What was a Avife for ? 

There Avere those Avho regarded Thornton Rush Avith 
positive fear. They quailed beneath the flash of his 
eye. Such dared not openly oppose him and Avere oiit- 
Avardly his friends. Some, lacking poAvers of penetra- 
tion, deemed him better than he Avas, and thought there 
must be much hidden good in one Avho had Avon so sweet 
a AYoman for a Avife. FeAV dared exhibit, or openly pro- 
claim the intense disaffection Avith Avhich he had inspired 
them. But those Avho did Avere bitter and unrelenting 
in animosity ; Avere enemies indeed, Avorthy of tlie 
name. Foremost among these Avas Carlton Sharp. 
This Captain still led a company Avell drilled and 
faithful. On the other side, Thornton Rush, since 
about it Avas no smell of gunpoAvder, trained a goodly 
creAV, Avith Avhich he met the Captain’s line. Victory 
was not always upon one side. Politics is a very 


hubeet’s wife. 


185 


uncertain res gestae. And Iiiiman nature, more uncer- 
tain still, would vacillate from wing to wing, now 
being a Sharpes retainer, and anon a hanger-on of 
Rush. (Such changelings would not count, but that 
their vote weighs heavily. 

Mrs. Lisle had already made one visit to her son, 
which lasted several months. During this visit 
Althea’s eyes had been opened, and she had been led 
to w’onder, as before in the case of her husband, for 
what purpose had been assumed the false garb-^ 
amiability during the time of her sojourn at Kennons. 
Both Mrs. Lisle and that strange Avoman’s son Avcre 
mysteries to Althea. To her mind of singular clear- 
ness and purity they Avere incomprehensible. Their 
falseness and hardness she AA^as more ready to believe 
hallucinations of her OAvn mind, rather than really 
glaring faults of character in them. Hence she strove 
to force herself to believe them better than they Avere. 
But this could not last — and at length the young Avife 
Avas driven to the sad conclusion that her mother-in- 
hiAV AA^as not only harsh, unamiable, and unforgiving, 
but destitute of moral and religious principle, and that 
the man she had married Avas Avorthy such ignoble 
parentage. 

Did Althea then learn to regard her husband Avith 
scorn and contempt? Did she become a AA'oman’s 
rights Avoman and inveigh against man’s tyranny 
and Avoman’s AA^eak submission? Not yet. Althea 
was motherless, and to all intents fatherless. She had 
a warm, loving nature, and there AA^ere fcAV in this 
Avorld for her to love. She had given her first love 
16 * 


186 


HUBERT^S AYIFE. 


to Thornton, and though she liad become a^Yare that 
it Avas not the deepest love of which her nature was 
susceptible she yet clung to him, shutting her e^^es to 
his ill-disguised defects, striving to clothe him Avith 
the graces Avhich she had at first supposed him to pos- 
sess, and, insensibly to himself, refining and purifying 
by slight degrees his selfish nature. 

Then Althea had a pleasant cottage, situated upon a 
grassy plain, and embosomed in native forest trees. She 
had her floAA'ers, music, books, her day dreams and 
hours of inspiration, Avhen she recited to the birds 
improvisations Avhich might liaA'C thrilled or amused a 
more appreciative audience. Her naturally happy, 
cheerful disposition caught and reflected but the light, 
and dispensed Avarmth and harmony upon all around. 

Althea had another grand source of happiness ; it 
Avas in her one child. Master Johnny Temple, noAV just 
passed his third year. With considerable likeness to 
his father, this child possessed the hereditary beauty 
of the St. Legers, Avith that peculiar, queenly poise of 
the head that had distinguished Della Lisle. 

He Avas then a remarkably beautiful child, Avith a 
Avinning and loving nature. To keep him nicely 
dressed Avas one of Althea’s SAveetest cares ; and the 
little felloAv had such a proud air he Avould have been 
taken for a royal prince. 

Strange Avould it have been had not Thornton Rush 
been proud of such a AAufe and child. But he kept his 
pride and admiration shut aAvay from their objects. He 
never took the trouble to tell Althea that she Avas dear 
to him, even if he chanced to think so; reversely he 


Hubert’s wife. 


187 


had a sullen way of appearing to. think his family a 
trouble and burthen. Had Althea suddenly died some 
day he would have been shaken into due appreciation ; 
as it was, her presence was like the sunlight that flooded 
him unconsciously, and to which he was so accustomed 
lie never thought, to be grateful for it. 

You have seen a little boy with a pet dog. What a 
life that dog led! Harnessed to carts, sleds, made to 
draw heavy loads, after his young master, besides 
jerked this way and that, scolded, kicked, cuffed — 
what wonder the abused animal ran away or gave up 
the ghost ? Then the boy’s grief! His dear, precious 
only friend that he loved so devotedly ! He mourns, 
sighs, weeps, not dreaming that he has himself done 
his dog to death. He is lost, having no one to love 
and torment. 

I will not mind his cross words, his petulance, his 
spasms of anger,” constantly repeated the patient wife, 
but they entered her soul. I will disarm him with 
smiles and pleasant words,” she every day resolved ; 
yet every day was she pierced anew with his arrowy 
verbality. He shall have to remember me only as a 
good wife and true,” she said mentally, even while her 
heart was ground as with a heel of iron. 

But the time was coming when Althea might not 
be able thus to fortify herself. 

One August morning the family sat at breakfast. 
It was earlier than usual, for Mr. Bush was to take 
the boat,, which was to convey him the first stages of 
his journey to his native Thornton Hall. Master 
Johnny wa.s already up and in his place; for he was 
a wide-awake fellow, bound never to be left behind. 


188 


Hubert’s wife. 


Johnny will not eat; he has not been well for sev- 
eral days/’ remarked the mother anxiously. 

You are always borrowing trouble. It is too early 
for the child to eat/’ said the undisturbed father. 

His stomach must be out of order ; he threw up 
yesterday all he ate/’ continued Althea. 

Because you stuffed him so. You are making a 
glutton of him. You ought to know he should not 
eat more than he can hold/’ replied Thornton, amiable 
as usual. 

The child had put his chubby hands upon the table, 
and laid upon them his curly head. 

Look up here, sir,” said his father, sharply, what 
ails you?” 

The child raised his head wearily, and looked plead- 
ingly to his mother. She arose, about to take him in 
her arms, when the father interposed. 

Let him alone. The boy is well enough. You are 
making a fool of him ; he will never amount to a row 
of pins. I am going to take him in my own hands ; 
he is old enough, and has been babied to death. Shut 
up, I tell you,” addressing Johnny, who was now 
crying for his mother to take him. Yes, a new leaf 
shall be turned over just so soon as I return from 
Virginia. And you are about as much of a baby as 
he is, Althea,” whose eyes he observed to be full of 
tears. ^^Here, another cup of coffee; you have no 
thought for me — you give all your attention to that 
child — there, there is the whistle now ! Ten to one 
I shall be late, and all your fault, forcing me to talk 
instead of allowing me to eat. Hand me my valise — 


Hubert’s wife. 


189 


there, good-by and don’t fret,” and, rushing away, he 
gave no kiss to little Johnny, whom he was never 
more to behold; no kiss to Althea, whom he was 
indeed to meet again, to meet again and soon; but 
a gulf between him and her, insurmountable as death 
itself. 

She turned to her child, now that there was no voice 
commanding, ^^let him alone.” She rocked him in 
her arms a long time after he had fallen asleep. Her 
tears sparkled upon his jet curls, while her heart was 
heavy as lead in her bosom. 

^^Am I, then, so unlovely that my husband does not 
care for me? Once I thought it was so beautiful to 
love, and to be loved ! His love is gone; and mine — 
O my God, let me not lose the last particle of love for 
the one I must live with until Meath do us part.’ 
We might be so happy, but are so miserable ! Is it 
my fault ? My conscience is clear ; it does not accuse 
me. Ho is so unhappy, so morose ; he makes us all 
so wretched, when life ought to be so pleasant.” 

Althea had placed her low rocker upon the verandah. 
A gentle breeze stirred the vines that wreathed the pil- 
lars. The birds flew hither and thither upon boughs 
that shaded her cottage. The fragrance of flowers 
filled the air. 

How beautiful is all this visible world,” exclaimed 
she. ^^How full should it be of enjoyment.” 
yes,” chirped the birds, the breeze and the flowers. 

She laid down her child, who still slept heavily. 
She gazed at him intently, resolutely banishing unwel- 
come thoughts of aught that should harm him. 


190 


hubeet’s wife. 


The house was in confusion, as it ever is after a hur- 
ried departure. Althea busied herself with setting 
things straight. Then she sat down to her piano, and 
commenced a song; but her voice trembled too much. 
She changed into a favorite march, whose notes rose 
and fell like the storm-tossed billows of the sea. Bat- 
tles, quadrilles^ waltzes dropped from her finger-ends, 
as if they had been magicians, and so mingled, dislo- 
cated and inharmonious, as to make wildest, though 
still musical confusion. 

Hand-weary, but heart-lightened, she took up a 
book. It was a new book, she had but half-read. 

Gates Ajar.’^ She came to the child eating her 
ginger snaps in Heaven; to the musician playing 
favorite airs upon the piano, to the dress-maker fash- 
ioning gossamer garments out of aerial fabrics, etc., 
etc. She put by the book. 

I do not like that kind of a Heaven. How could 
an authoress make a Heaven out of the lowest part of 
earth ? To think of eating, darning and mending up 
there! We are to do in perfection there, what we 
most like to do here ! The drunkard then will take 
his glass; but he does not go to Heaven. Wonder if 
the tobacco chewer enters through the pearly gates — 
^nothing that defileth or maketh a lie^ — ah, how 
beautiful and charming Heaven must be ; more than 
we can conceive, or she, who looked through ^ Gates 
Ajar,^ can imagine. I do not quite like to look 
through her eyes. I suppose my mother is there. 
How little I ever think of her — wonder if she watches 
me from above ; O my mother, my mother in Heaven, 
have pity upon your child I 


Hubert’s wife. 


191 


A noise from the adjoining room startled her. Had 
the cat gained entrance to her sleeping child? She 
went in hurriedly; Johnny was in spasms. 

She seized him in her arms, and ran screaming for 
Mary into the kitchen. Mary ran for the physician, 
and the distracted mother, still holding ‘the convulsed 
child in her arms, walked up and down the verandah, 
shouting for help. 

Doctors and neighbors came. All that medical skill 
and friendly sympathy could suggest was done ; but all 
in vain. When the spasm subsided, the eye was 
uprolled in unconsciousness, and the face burned with 
the fiercest fever. Then Avould come the fearful con- 
vulsion, and you would not know the beautiful face so 
racked and tortured. Again the demon would die out ; 
but reason returned not from his relaxing hold. What 
a scene was there ! All had been set in order a brief 
while before. Now, again, everywhere was confusion. 
There lay upon the floor the little cast-off garments. 
The child had done with them. His rocking-horse 
stood in the corner, his whip and gun near by, liis box 
of marbles, his countless broken toys and the sled he 
had never used. The last time he had been to drive 
with his parents, he had seen that sled inside a store. 
He insisted upon having it. 

But there is no snow to slide upon,” objected his 
father. 

Johnny no slide — Johnny have ’ittle oeken (oxen) 
draw sled.” 

So the sled was purchased, packed into the carriage, 
and that night little Johnny had wished to sit up all 
night to admire his treasure. 


192 


Hubert’s wife. 


These bufully flowers, mamma, see,” pointing to 
the upper surface and sides of the nosegay, facetiously 
termed. At length sleep overtook him, lying under 
the table side by side with the gaily-painted sled, one 
chubby hand grasping the forward rung. The next 
day the sled had lost its charms, for Johnny was ill; 
and the next — alas, here was little Johnny I We 
might speak of Althea’s bewildered grief ; but why 
should a mother’s hand attempt to write, or a mother 
desire to read what only a mother’s heart can under*- 
stand, and but imperfectly express? 




CHAPTER XXIII. 



HUBERT LISLE AT VINE COTTAGE. 

T was all over, the death and burial of little 
Johnny. All Windsor mourned for the 
beautiful child and the desolate mother. 
Even Mrs. Carlton Sharp came, Mr. Rush 
being gone, and mingled her tears with the bereaved. 
And Althea was not ungrateful. She turned not away 
from all expressions of sympathy, as. it pleases some 
to do. She knew that only kindness was intended, 
and to her wounded, but still loving heart, gentle 
words and deeds were as balm that is healing. 

After the first few days, however, Althea was left 
more alone. The women of Windsor mostly did their 
own household labor, and the busy season of the year 
compelled them to remain at home. Althea could fix 
her mind only upon her lost darling. She collected 
his playthings, soiled, broken, and all. She gathered 
flowers to fling above the brown earth that hid him 
from her view. She wrote heart-broken verses in his 
memory, and many more she poured forth in unwrit- 
ten music to the winds. 

There was a certain comfort in thus being able to 
abandon herself to grief and lamentation. But how 

17 






194 


Hubert’s wife. 


would it be when her husband returned home? What 
would he say to the death of his son? As was usual, 
would he blame her also for this catastrophe? Or, 
would this affliction soften his heart, rendering him 
more kind in his intercourse with herself? Althea 
was revolving this in her mind, in a measure tempor- 
arily diverted from her grief. She was sitting upon 
the verandah, amongst her flowers, herself the sweetest 
of them all. A quick step upon the path startled her. 
She arose hastily, and glanced through the vines. 

A stranger that moment caught sight of her, and 
came around to where she stood. 

For an instant, he remained regarding her ; then lie 
clasped her right hand in both of his, and pressed it 
softly to his lips, 

Althea, taken by surprise, was about to resent such 
a liberty, when the stranger said : 

I am your cousin, Althea, you must have heard 
of Hubert Lisle ?” 

It was indeed, Hubert, just over from a six years’ 
residence abroad. Had he been Althea’s own brother, 
she would not have welcomed him with more profuse 
demonstrations of delight. 

learned at the hotel of your great affliction, 
which must be doubly painful, your husband being 
absent.” Hubert glanced searchingly at his cousin’s 
face. He had vivid remembrances of Thornton Hush, 
and held the conviction, that however much he might 
have changed for the better, he could be still any- 
thing but an agreeable life-companion. He discovered 
nothing by his searching glance, for Althea was think- 


HUBERT S WIFE. 


195 


ing of her child, not of her husband; and this refer- 
ence replunged her into grief. 

Hubert^s sympathy was aroused, and he attempted 
words of consolation. When he saw how worse than 
vain these were, he endeavored to withdraw her mind, 
by giving vivid descriptions of and experiences in for- 
(ign lands. 

Althea made an effort — an effort for the lack of 
which died Dickens’ Fanny, little Paul’s mother — 
and listened through politeness and courtesy. Grad- 
ually, her mind awakened to a lively interest; and 
before the day was spent, she regarded her cousin as the 
most interesting gentleman of her acquaintance. 

‘^How fortunate he should have come now, just in 
this time of my distress,” she whispered to herself, as 
she was about to retire, stopping to weep over the 
little night- wrapper, whose wearer was gone, but 
which still had its place beneath her pillow. She had 
a thought, too, which she did not whisper, and it was 
this : how fortunate too that he should have come 

while Thornton is gone, that no thunder-cloud may 
hang over us.” 

Hubert had made a short visit to ICennons. Mr. 
Fuller was still overseer of the plantation, which he 
had conducted satisfactorily. Mrs. Lisle had, of 
course, returned to Thornton Hall. Amy and Chloe 
were installed in their cabins of old, and had super- 
vision of the white house. From these faithful ser- 
v^ants Hubert had learned the deception that had been 
practiced upon his father, during that parent’s close of 
life. At least,, he learned how letter after letter had 


196 


hubeet’s wife. 


been written, how impatiently his arrival had been 
awaited, and with what bitter disappointment that 
father had quitted the world, unreconciled that his son 
came not. 

These communicative old women unfolded to their 
pet young master, as they still loved to call him, the 
plan that father had cherished with regard to himself 
and Althea. For this also was not unknown to them. 
Duncan Lisle had dropped into Amy’s car more than 
one hint of this kind. He had none other to confide 
in ; and during a sleepless night, while Amy watched, 
he whiled away an hour discoursing of his son, and of 
the project in view. This faithful servant had Althea's 
picture treasured with jealous care. 

You shall see it, Massa ’Ubert, an’ see what you’ve 
done gone an’ lost,” unrolling the precious memento 
from its many wrappings, as if it had been a mummy 
embalmed. 

Hubert beheld what he had lost ” first with admi- 
ration, then with a sigh. But the sigh was not for 
himself only ; it was for what that sweet-faced soul 
must suffer, under such guardianship as that of Thorn- 
ton Eush. 

Hubert Lisle at once rightly inferred the destination 
of those letters which had never reached him ; and he 
glared fiercely at the fireplace now filled with green 
boughs, that had afforded flame to enwrap aught so 
precious. O, cruel flames, to blot out two such priv- 
ileges — giving consolation to a dying father, and 
receiving from his hands a wife little less beautiful 
or good than an angel ! And more cruel than flame^ 


Hubert’s avife. 


197 


than direful fate, than death itself, the heart of Kusha 
Lisle, which Hubert would fain have trodden into 
indiscriminate dust, in his first moments of grief and 
wrath. 

An intense desire of revenge took possession of this 
outraged son; more particularly of revenge against 
Thornton Rush, whose duplicity in winning Althea 
was circumstantially detailed to him. 

Hubert Lisle had not only traveled extensively, but 
had read and studied deeply. He had scanned all 
religions, from that of Confucius to Mormonism and 
F:.>ee-lovelsm, which is beyond religion, and had no 
settled faith in any. ' He had dived into German 
transcendentalism and metaphysics so deeply that he 
ca ne out clogged and permeated as a fly miraculously 
escaped from a jar of honey. He was naturally good 
and true, simple minded and high principled; but 
unlicensed, untrammelled thought, unsubjective to 
God’s law, had rendered him liable to erect false theo- 
ries upon unsound premises, and had undermined in a 
measure that nice sense of right and wrong, which 
had been his proud, happy birth-right. Yet he would 
have been startled to have been told that he was not 
now, as ever, a bold lover of the truth, that he scorned 
not deception and hypocrisy and all manner of evil. He 
would have bounded, as from the sting of a serpent, 
from open temptation to meanness and wrong. He 
Avalked upon the border of a precipice, not knowing 
but he was upon the open plain. Thus walketh 
human frailty, Avhen unenlightened by faith in God 
and unfortified by heavenly counsel. 

17 * 


198 


Hubert’s wife. 


A modern reformer/’ self-styled, acting as a ^^spirit- 
ual medium,” is said thus to have addressed a visitor : 

It is my very strong impression that you are my 
affinity. You are to be my husband; I am to be your 
wife. You must seek a divorce ; so will I, and hap- 
piness awaits us.” 

Two divorces ensued, and the gentleman visitor and 
the medium ” became one, an affinity, according to 
spiritual ” directions. 

Hubert Lisle would have turned his back upon such 
sophistry, and scorned such a diabolical medium, how 
fair soever. He had not, however, been at Vine Cottage 
a week, every day in the society of one whose situation 
so much appealed to his sympathy and kindness, when 
he became conscious that he had been taken Into a high 
mountain, and had not strength to say, ^^Get thee 
behind me, Satan.” 

From this height was offered him a treasure worth 
more than kingdoms and thrones and all the riches of 
the earth. Instead of shuddering and turning back, he 
fixed his eye upon the glittering prize. 

^^It is thine,” whispered the tempter, ^^the hand that 
holds so fair a pearl is all unworthy. It chafes and 
frets within the cruel grasp which an ungleaming 
pebble might fill as well. It would glow in the sun- 
light of your fostering care. It would enrich your 
soul as a priceless gem ; as an amaranthine flower it 
would breathe unto your heart an eternal perfume.” 

Hubert Lisle had made obeisance to feminine beauty 
in every land ; but his heart had remained untouched. 
Like his father years before, he had arrived at the 


hubeet’s wife. 199 • 

t 

mature age of twenty-eight, unscathed by the blind 
god’s arrow. 

Hit at last, and so unwisely pierced ! To love the 
wife of another ! Hubert would have scorned such 
an insinuation but a few days before. But he had not 
then seen Althea. He loved her, was she not his 
cousin ? He loved her, who could resist, she was so 
beautiful and good? He loved her, she was so 
unhappy, must be unhappy as the wife of Thornton 
Rush. She had been won with false words and deceit- 
ful ways and wiles. Thornton deserved to lose what 
he had dishonestly gained, and what he apparently 
valued so little. Had not Thornton Rush wronged 
and, as it were, robbed the dead, and bitterly betrayed 
himself to gain possession of a jewel which should 
have been his own, which he would have worn so 
proudly? Had not this man been his enemy from 
childhood ; with his mother, the curse of his father’s 
house ? Ever in his way, a perpetual thorn in the 
flesh, could he not now dislodge him roofc and branch, 
and spit him upon an arrow, that should cease never 
to quiver ? 

Hubert Lisle experienced qualms of conscience, 
debated as to right and wrong, gave many thoughts 
to the censoriousness of the world, but he had not the 
fear of God before his eyes. 

I can win her if I will,” was his confident thought 
at the first. 

I will win her at all hazards,” was his later iron 
purpose. 

And Althea ! Oh ! is it thus that the child of Ellice 
doth come to Della’s daughter ? 


200 


HUBERT^S WIFE. 


And what hath this daughter as a shield from the 
tempter? Came he not unto sinless Eve in Paradise; 
unto her even who had seen the Eternal Majesty, and 
listened to His voice? 

And Althea had not laid up her treasure in Heaven. 
She had not given her wounded heart to Him who 
was wounded for our transgressions. She had not 
poured her sorrows into the ear of the Infinite, nor 
laid her bleeding hands upon the cross of Christ, 

So turned Althea from a now unloved, ungracious 
husband ; from a bitter sorrow for her lost child, to 
human love and human consolation. 

But Althea was not won so easily from her strong- 
hold of duty. Nor would she, on recovering from tie 
shock of Hubert^s first proposal, consent to flee at once, 
putting the sea between them and Thornton Rush. 
Hubert pleaded strongly and well, but could gain only 
this point. He Avould return to Kennons, and dispose 
of his property and hers. She would remain with lier 
husband for the present. The first time he should 
raise his hand against her, as he had already done, she 
would leave his house and procure a divorce. With 
this Avas Hubert fain to be content ; and the day before 
the anticipated return of Thornton Rush, after his 
absence of three weeks, he left Vine Cottage and the 
sad-faced lady Avho dwelt therein, confident that ere 
many months he Avould have Althea as his Avife, 
sAveet revenge upon his old-time enemy. 



CHAPTER XXIV. 



JEALOUSY. 

ATURALLY, Althea was a changed person 
ii> the eyes of her husband. A man less 
jealously disposed might have attributed 
this to the sudden death of an only be- 
loved child. But to Thornton, the knowledge that 
Hubert Lisle, a man his superior in mental, moral and 
personal accomplishments, had associated with Althea 
during almost the whole period of his absence, this 
knowledge, we say, was to Thornton as gall and worm- 
wood. 

‘‘ And how did you like your cousin ? he questioned 
with assumed carelessness. 

Had Althea answered equally carelessly, Oh ! very 
weiy^ she would have aroused suspicion, for she well 
understood her husband. So she said with enthusi- 
asm : I liked him very much indeed. I wish you 

could have met him. He is very agreeable and mast 
Alligent.^^ 

You speak as if you thought I was a stranger to 
him. I have seen Hubert Lisle before to-day ! 

But you have not seen him of late. A six years 
residence abroad must have changed him greatly.^^ 




202 Hubert’s wife. 

j i 

^^Umpli! Your cousin is not the first person who 
has crossed the Atlantic, as you would have me infer. 
At all events, he is a sneak and a coward to stay in 
my house more than two weeks, and decamp just 
before I was expected.’’ Althea was silent. 

A sneak and a coward, I repeat ; what have you to 
say to that?” demanded Thornton, his eyes blazing 
like coals of fire. 

Nothing,” said the wife, indifferently. 

Nothing ! By Mars ! do you answer nothing^ when 
I ask you a civil question ? It is well he did not let 
me find him here; it is not the first insult he would 
have got from me, and perhaps something worse. If 
there’s a person on earth I hate worse than Sharp, it 
is that self-conceited Hubert Lisle. He is a puppy, 
an upstart, vain as a woman, and deep and false as 
perdition itself.” 

He waited as if expecting a reply. None came; lie 
glanced sideways to his wife, and continued : 

Yes, you two would make a very pretty couple, 
very suitable. Your two heads are forever among the 
stars. I wonder there is a book of poetry left in the 
house. It is a marvel you both did not sail away in 
some carved shell of hollow pearl, almost translucent 
with the light divine des tons deux within. For otto- 
mans you could have piles of Scott, Moore, Byron, 
Shelley, and Keats ; and for food .and drink, you could 
have stringed instruments, and easel, palette, and 
brush. How contemptible are womanish tastes in a 
man ! ” Again he waited vainly for a reply. The 
pallid fingers of Althea were pulling in pieces a half- 


Hubert’s wife. 


203 


faded flower, upon which her lustrous eyes were 
unvaryingly fastened. 

Good heavens, Althea, how provoking you are ! ” 
cried Thornton, rising from his seat and confronting 
furiously his wife, cannot you speak to a man ; what 
have you to say, what are you thinking of?” 

Thinking of? ” she said absently, scattering the 
petals from her fair palm to the floor, then raising her 
eyes full to his : Thinking of the fair little blossom 
that withered in its bloom. I have done wrong to 
weep for him such bitter tears ; for he was your child, 
and had he lived he might have cursed some woman’s 
life as you have cursed mine.” 

This was uttered apparently without anger, and in 
modulated tones. But no words of Althea had ever 
struck Thornton Rush like these. He was speechless; 
and when she arose and passed him by to an adjoining 
room, he stirred not hand nor foot. If she had expected 
then would fall the arranged blow, she would have 
been disappointed. But she had not expected it, nor 
even thought about it. The faded flower had, indeed, 
brought up her own withered blossom, as she had said. 
Had her husband’s discourse been of Johnny, instead 
of the senseless tirade against her cousin, had he exhib- 
ited kindness, and generous sympathy for herself, she 
might still have been won back to duty. But now, 
Thornton’s Avords and sneers, however deserved she 
might have felt them to be, caused her to contrast the 
wretchedness of a continued life Avith him Avith Avhat 
it might be. Thus far she had been agitated by inde- 
cision and scruples, they should henceforth trouble her 


204 


Hubert’s wife. 


no more. She was fully resolved, even more than 
when she had promised Hubert. 

In her own room, Althea withdrew the blinds and 
looked out at the sky. It was eovered with clouds, 
save one spaee of blue. 

^^Thus is my sky covered with gloom,” she murmured, 
^^thus amidst the darkness gleams my one ray of pre- 
cious light. O blessed ultramarine, from on high I take 
thee as a token. God is good ; God does not will that 
I should suffer ; He does not will that I should love a 
demon. I am still so young ; a long life may be in 
store for me; a cruel, wretehed life with Thornton 
Rush, who assumed the guise of an angel of light to 
win me to destruction. A peaceful, happy life with 
Hubert, for whom heaven itself must have intended 
me. The sin is Thornton’s, not mine, nor Hubert’s. 
On the contrary, to continue to live with Thornton 
would be a sin. I can no longer deceive myself or 
him, I love him not ; I believe I could hate him ! ” 
and a gleam unusual shot from the large, dreamful 
eyes. 

Althea forgot, while she thus soliloquised, that she 
could not thus have felt, or could not have spoken 
such words, had not Hubert Lisle won her love. 
While her heart had not been given to another, she 
could have endured her husband patiently, fulfilling 
her wifely duties, and possessing a conscience clear 
before God. She would leave her husband then, not 
because of the harshness and cruelty allegible, but 
because she had criminally strayed from her allegiance 
and given her love where she had no right to give. 


HUBERT^S WIFE. 


205 


So blinded, however, was Althea, she did not per- 
ceive this. While she was wronged, indeed, by Thorn- 
ton, she was still farther wronged by Hubert. No 
unkind treatment of the one could excuse her for lis- 
tening, without rebuke, to words of unlawful love 
from the other. They Avere an insult to her good 
sense and virtue ; and so at first had Althea esteemed 
them to be. But by and by — ah, it is an old story, 
and the saddest, sorriest of all stories in this life of 
ours; reading it, or hearing it, one sighs that our 
guardian angePs wings are invisible, and that once 
from out their protecting shadow, Ave rush headlong 
unto darkness and death. 

We Avill not assert that Thornton felt not the death 
of his only son ; he Avas not so inhuman as to be unaf- 
fected. He Avould have given all his earthly posses- 
sions to hear again that Avinsome voice of his child 
resounding through the house. He had not realized 

How mucli of hope, how much of joy, 

3Iay be buried up with an only boy! 

until the house Avas darkened by the death of Johnny, 
The grief Avhich he experienced, hoAVever, affected him 
strangely. As Ave have seen, instead of softening his 
selfish nature, it rendered him more morose and censo- 
rious. It alienated, instead of binding him closer to 
his bereaved Avife. 

One reason Avas in this ; that Althea had for him 
now no winning Avays. She made no effort at concili- 
ation, and sought not to give or to receive mutual 
sympathy. Indeed, from the period of the conversa- 
18 


206 


hubeet’s avife. 


tion above recorded between husband and wife, he was 
like a volcano, and she like an iceberg. As much as 
he was capable of loving, he loved Althea. Desirable 
as had been her fortune in his eyes, lie would never 
have practised such a series of stratagems and self- 
denials, had she not personally been of great value in 
his eyes. When won, and she was surely his, he dis- 
continued his deception, and appeared his natural self. 
She became to him, as we have before said, like the pet 
dog to his young master, though secretly beloved, yet 
ill-treated, scolded and abused. The thought of her 
ever being lost to him had not occurred to his mind, 
until he learned of the visit of Hubert Lisle. With 
him, Thornton well knew he would sutfer in compari- 
son. That was the reason Thornton^s mother had 
taken such infinite and dishonorable pains in prevent- 
ing his coming fo his dying father. Althea would 
surely prefer her cousin. 

But Thornton was at a loss what to make of 
Althea’s present behavior. He had at first felt a 
deadly jealousy of Hubert. That emotion had almost 
over-shadoAVed his grief. But he could not learn that 
any communication was kept up between the parties. 
No letters came to and fro. The mention of Hubert’s 
name caused no blush Upon Althea’s cheek. She spoke 
of him kindly and naturally, as of a brother that Avas 
dear to her. . In the distant years, he had been con- 
vinced of Hubert’s honorable nature. He might not 
have changed. At all events he Avas gone noAV, and 
might never return. It Avas more agreeable to attri- 
bute Althea’s rigid coldness to a shock of grief, rather 


HUBEETS WIFE. 


207 


than to a shock of hatred to himself or of affection 
for another. Nevertheless, he gave her no peace nor 
quiet. He became angered if she did not converse, 
and equally out of temper with whatever she might 
say. 

Does such a man deserve a wife ? Let him have a 
woman, then, who will bring him to his senses — or 
what passes for senses — in a manner veritably Xan- 
tippean ; and not one of those tender-hearted, peace- 
loving creatures who would bless some good man’s 
heart and home. 

There are few men upon whom kindness and gentle- 
ness will not make more or less impression ; but our 
unprepossessing hero is of that unfavored few. 




CHAPTER XXV. 

THE AWAKENING. 

a few M^eeks, Thornton has something 
c his house to engage him. Electicm 
reaching. Although neither Thornton 
xiKjL nis rival are in the field as candidates, 
each has his favorite nominee to support. The fire 
that Thornton has kept raging within Vine Cottage 
is now transferred to hall, stump and settler^s cabia. 
Sharp is not in the background. Hia antagonist hears 
of him, or crosses his trail here, there and elsewhere. 
He is put to his wits’ end in checkmating and circum- 
venting him. He, at length, learns something quite 
astonishing. He has returned from an extended trip 
to the country, supposing Sharp to be not far in front 
or rear. To his chagrin he has remained all the while 
in town, and been an attendant at the Catholic Mission, 
being held for ten days in Windsor. 

That is a game at which two can play, I am think- 
ing,” said Thornton, mentally, grinding his teeth at 
the thought of the votes Sharp’s presence might secure 
among such a crowd, 

Althea,” he said, excitedly, going over to his house, 
^^that rascally fellow is robbing me of all the Irish 





Hubert’s wife. 


209 


votes. Get your bonnet and come with me down to 
St, Mary’s. I can drop on my knees and become as 
good an idolater as that scoundrel of a Sharp. Who 
would ever have suspected him of pursuing that dodge? 
But he is up to all games. Come, how long does it 
take you to put on your bonnet and shawl? They 
say an old Jesuit is going to preach ; I think when 
his mission is over, I will take private lessons of him 
in the art of intrigue. That is what Sharp is at. I’ll 
be bound. Never mind your gloves; you can be 
drawing those on while we are Avalking along. Yen 
look like a charming little widow in black.” 

The wife looked up at the husband in blank surprise 
at so unusual an epithet as charming” coming from 
his lips, and applied to her. But the truth is, Thornton 
had done an unusual thing — taken one glass too much, 
and he spoke unguardedly. He even drew Althea’s 
little hand within his own and through his left arm 
on the way to St. Mary’s, instead of striding on a few 
paces in advance, as was usual. Just before arriving, 
he addressed Althea : 

Now that you have come so far, do the thing up 
browm. Make your prettiest courtesy to all the graven 
Images, and particularly to that idol toAvard the left 
corner. It Avill be no trouble for you to kneel ; that 
is always in place for a woman. Keep your eyes open 
and bow low to every old lady who has a husband, 
or a son old enough to vote. Don’t hold your ker- 
chief to your nose, even should you be knocked over 
Avith the incense, and Avhen the bell rings bow doAvn 
double to the floor : ha ! it is a AAufe can make or break 
18 ^ ' • 


210 


HUBERT'S AVIFE. 


her husband's fortune for time ; do you hear, wife?^' 

^^Yes, I hear/' softly replied Althea, more than 
slightly disgusted. 

They entered the church which was already crowded. 
But Thornton Rush elbowed his way up the aisle till 
he stood not far from the altar. A gentleman politely 
gave his seat to Althea, but Thornton continued to 
stand, a perfect spectacle unto all beholders. Ho 
folded his arms and glanced out savagely. The first 
eye he met was Sharp's. Yes, there sat his enemy, 
snugly ensconced in Mr. McHugh's pew — that same 
Mr. McHugh who had told him three days before, 
that he did not consider Sharp the honestest man in 
the world ! He had counted on McHugh — and now 
where was he ? 

Protestants who were present were quite as much 
surprised at seeing Mr. Rush as were the Catholics. 
He had never been seen even in a meeting-house, 
unless at a lecture, political caucus, or some kindred 
rather than religious entertainment. Sharp was a 
rigid Presbyterian ; but his rival had never thought it 
worth his while to pretend to imitate him in that par- 
ticular. On the contrary, by keeping aloof, he found 
favor with the more numerous Methodists, the few 
Universalists, Baptists, Spiritualists, etc., which more 
or less abounded in the rapidly growing little town. 
To all these he could be all things. But as to the 
Catholic fold, ah, if that shaiqi Avolf, or wolf Sharp, 
got in there would be mischief astir. He must leap 
after, for, to a Catholic, his religion was more than 
meat or drink, and he would become naturally a 
friend to him who was friendly to his religion. 


HUBERT^S WIFE. 


211 


Althea had but rarely been inside a Catholic church. 
When a child she had been more than once to St. Pat- 
rick’s, with her uncle and cousins, during a temporary 
absence of her aunt. She had been partial to the Epis- 
copal service ; but as there was no society of this sect 
at Windsor, she had very often followed her husband’s 
example of remaining at home on Sundays ; though 
sometimes she attended at the different denominational 
houses, as inclination urged, or some stranger, man or 
woman, preached. 

Upon this occasion Althea was peculiarly impressed ; 
not so much by the blaze of light, the brightness and 
perfume of flowers, nor by the commanding attitude 
of the aged missioner, who stood grasping the mission 
cross and about to speak. It was the sudden memory 
of her uncle, John Temple, who so loved and practiced 
this same religion that touched her soul. He came 
before her, in all his simple, unpretending honesty and 
truth. Never so much, as at this moment, had she 
appreciated his worth. She did, indeed, bow her head 
with reverence before the altar, not in obedience to her 
husband’s commands, but in tribute to her uncle’s 
memory. She had named her only child his unfor- 
gotten name, and now the child had joined him In the 
spirit-world. The two came before her like phantoms 
evoked. Were they, indeed, hovering around her in 
this sacred place ? Such was Althea’s impression, and 
how guilty felt she before them ! Still more lowly 
bowed her unworthy head, and pressing her clasped 
hands to her heart, she cried, O God, be merciful to 
me a sinner ! ” 


212 


HUBERT^S WIFE, 


There was a hush in the swaying crowd, for the 
priest was about to speak. He had stood during sev- 
eral minutes, until even the latest seemed to have 
arrived; then, in the genefel silence of expectation, 
his voice sounded clear and full and his words were : 

O God, be merciful to me. a sinner ! 

Such an unexpected echo of her own unbreathed 
words startled Althea like an electric shock. For a 
moment she raised her head, and her drooping eyes 
fell upon the utterer of that broken-hearted prayer. 
Then upon the clasped hands fell again the white fore- 
head, nor was it lifted more until after an hour or two 
of stirring eloquence the missioner closed with a repe- 
tition of his opening words, O God, be merciful to 
me a sinner ! 

It had been to Althea the day, the hour of her vis-^ 
itation from on High. 




CHAPTER XXVI. 

LIGHT AFTER DARKNESS, 

R. RUSH was privately informed that his 
rival was to canvass Stony Creek pre- 
cinct on the following day. Accordingly 
he was up before daylight, drank half a 
dozen raw eggs, for which he had a particular passion, 
mounted his horse, and left Windsor behind, before Mr. 
Sharp had opened his eyes. Before leaving, however, 
the politician shook his wife by the arm; there was no 
need, although, for she had not slept, and thus addressed 
her: 

Althea, I am going to ‘ Stony Creek ^ that I may 
head that fellow. Don’t fail to attend the Mission 
to-day; and do, for goodness’ sake, hold your head up, 
and not fall fast asleep as you did last night. You 
acted like a mummy. Don’t know when I shall be 
back; you need not look for me. Have you heard 
what I said ? Don’t forget now about turning in with 
the idolaters, look at the old Jesuit, and pretend to 
hear what he says, if you don’t.” 

Althea breathed a sigh of relief as she found her- 
self thus unexpectedly left alone for the day. She 
would surely avail herself of the permission, com- 




214 


hubeet’s wife. 

» 

mand rather, to go to St. Mary’s. She had not slept, 
nor felt need of sleep; she had never been so wide 
awake; indeed, it was as if she were just awakened 
from a life-long slumber. 

While still meditating upon her pillow, the six 
o’clock bell rang; this reminded her that Mass had 
been appointed for that hour. She would go. She 
dressed hurriedly, and proceeding to the kitchen, told 
Mary, who was a Catholic, that she might postpone 
breakfast, and come with her to Mass. Mary looked 
up with a pleased surprise and cheerful Yes ma’am,” 
and was soon in readiness. 

Althea understood nothing whatever of the ceremony 
of the Mass ; nor, on this morning, did she seek to 
understand it. It was not for this purpose she had 
come to St. Maiy’s. It was to feel again a sense of 
that strange nearness to her uncle and her child ; to 
feel again near to Heaven and to God. And, though 
her conscience had been painfully aroused, though she 
felt keenly a thousand stings and reproaches, which 
would probably but be renewed and heightened by 
this repeated visit, she would not have remained away, 
not though her dearest wishes could have been realized 
in an hour. 

Althea remained absorbed in deep thought and 
reflection through the first, second, and third Mass; 
the quiet intervals were all the same to her. She was 
heedless of those who came in or who \vent out, as 
well as of those who knelt around the confessionals, 
except now and then to wonder, as she chanced to 
meet some tearful eye, if the world held another heart 
so lonely, desolate, hopeless as her own. 


Hubert’s wife. 


215 


Hopeless? She recalled the day when she had 
beheld the space of blue in the sky — the hole in the 
day, Piig-on-a-kesheik, thus termed by her Chippewa 
friends — which she had taken as a token that her love 
for Hubert was no sin. She recalled the momentary 
joy that had animated her as she, in imagination, 
clasped that love to her heart, as a gain for her loss, 
as a balm for her bitter sorrow. She remembered how 
she had even dropped upon her knees in thankfulness 
to heaven for having given her such a comfort in the 
midst of her grief. Should she have scruples when 
ministers of God had lifted up holy hands and sanc- 
tified such unions? Thus had her first sense of hor- 
ror been blunted, and blushless become her keen, 
W’omanly shame. 

Why then, wdth a sense oi the presence of the glori- 
fied spirits of her uncle and child, assumed that caressed 
infatuation, that which she had deemed a higher, nobler 
love, proportions of gigantic horror ? Why had she 
spat out as gall and wormwood the sweet morsel she 
had rolled under her tongue ? Why, giving up her 
only joy, trampling down with all her strength and 
might the one hope of her existence, had she returned 
to this strange house, wherein she could but beat her 
breast and cry out unworthy, unworthy ” ? Was 
she the first woman who had mistaken dross for gold ; 
and, finding her error, might not she, like others, fling 
it aside for the shining ore that lay in her path? 
Should her hand still grasp the piercing thorn, when 
the rose bloomed temptingly before her ? 

Thus listened Althea to human sophistry, until God 


216 


Hubert’s wife. 


spoke to her through the lips of the Jesuit priest. 
And he said, slowly and solemnly, grasping in his 
right hand the emblem of our religion : 

And unto the married I command, yet not I, but 
the Lord, let not the wife depart from her husband. 
But if she separate, let her remain unmarried, or be 
reconciled to her husband ; and let not the husband 
put away his wife.” 

Had these words come down from the heavens in 
tones of thunder they could not have produced upon 
Althea a more stunning effect. Was she here to 
recognize the hand of God? Had He inspired this 
priest to speak upon a subject that was thrilling her 
with pain, doubt, and fear ? 

A masterly discourse followed upon the indissolu- 
bility of the marriage tie. Shall it be insisted upon 
then, do you say,” toward the close of his impassioned 
words, that a woman shall suffer insult, effects of 
drunkenness, abuse of all kinds ? This is hard, 
indeed, but there is something worse than that ; for a 
sufiering wife to break the law of God, and marry 
another husband! For, whether is it not better to 
suffer than to sin? Wherefore came our blessed Lord 
upon earth, but to save us from the effects of our 
transgressions ? He laid down his life that we might 
live. He suffered that we might rejoice. But He suf- 
fered not the death of the Cross that we might enjoy 
to the utmost the pleasures of this life. He endured 
not the bloody sweat, the scourgings, scoffs, revilings, 
and all the attendancies of betrayal, trial, and cruci- 
fixion, that, with impunity, we might set at defiance 


iiubekt’s wife. 


217 


His divine law, and live in open rebellion to the 
Christian rule He came to establish. God Almighty- 
help us, if we expect to get to heaven in any other way 
than by the Cross of Christ! Think of it! The Cross 
of Christ ! Can you associate with those words, so 
dear, so sublime, to every Catholic heart, aught of this 
world’s ease, or luxury, or happiness? How many 
thousands saintly souls have flung aside all that the 
world could offer sweet and beautiful to embrace this 
hard, this cruel Cross ! And meet they no reward ? 
Hard Cross and cruel to eyes not comprehending, 
because separate from transitory joys, but yielding 
balm and incense sweeter and more as most closely 
pressed to the heart. And woman, first at the sepul- 
chre, first in every good word and work, is it not her 
glory to suffer for the Cross of Christ ? How much 
has she of His spirit, who cannot bear without rising 
anger one unkind word or provoking act ? Who gives 
taunt for taunt, and blow for blow ? Who disregards 
His express commands, availing herself of the civil 
law of divorce, which she knows to be at open vari- 
ance with ^Let not the wife separate from her hus- 
husband i but if she separate, let her remain unmar- 
ried, or else let her be reconciled unto her husband ! ’ 
‘‘What is termed in Jurisprudence the common 
law, falls sometimes heavily in individual cases ; but 
for that reason would we do away with it altogether ? 
The law of the indissoluble tie of marriage does, we 
admit, fall heavily upon some, yea, many lives ; should 
we, therefore, infer God’s dictation to be erring, and 
practice the human law opposing His own ? Supposing 
19 


218 


HUBERT^S WIFE. 


ill some Instances, a life to be made happier, even bet- 
ter ; would that compensate for the abolishment of a 
law upon which rests the general happiness of domestic 
society — nay, upon which rests society itself? Better 
that few should suflPer than that anarchy prevail. 
Better that all should understand the marriage bond 
to be indissoluble but by death, that it may be assumed 
carefully and solemnly as a life-affair of the utmost 
moment, and not entered into with thoughtless levity 
as a bargain that may be broken to-morrow. In a life- 
journey so intimate, patience, forbearance, meekness, 
long-suffering are requisite. These are Christian vir- 
tues which will render any yoke easy and every bur- 
den light. No Christian nation should legalize divorce. 
No true Christian will avail himself of the law of 
divorce. In the eye of every Christian man or woman, 
whosoever is married to him or her that ^has been put 
away ’ is one of whom it is said, ^they shall never enter 
the Kingdom of Heaven.’ Be not deceived. Even 
though those called and calling themselves ministers 
of God blaspheme Heaven by professing to bless such 
Unhallowed unions, they arc of the spirit of darkness, 
and lead unto moral death. 

Were there but this life, the case would be different. 
You could live and be merry, because to-morrow you 
die. It is upon this principle the divorce law has 
obtained. The World and Christianity are at vari- 
ance. The one offers you comfort and ease, the other 
a continual conflict with the flesh and the devil. In 
the end, the world’s votary shall vainly beg for a drop 
of water to cool the parched tongue ; while the Chris- 


HUBERT^S WIFE. 


219 


tian warrior, having lain aside buckler and shield, 
reposes under the green palms of victory and peace in 
the Kingdom of Infinite Love.’^ 

The noble follower of St. Loyola might reasonably 
find fault with the above, as a citation of his words. 
But they so glowed and sparkled that they could be 
caught only in fragments and snatches; imperfect as 
they are, we trust they convey an idea of what was 
impressed upon the mind of Althea when the Jesuit 
closed — ^4n the name of the Father, and of the Son 
and of the Holy Ghost. 

Althea was stricken — not blind as was the persecutor 
of the Christians — but with a steady lightning-flash 
of light that was intensely distressing. It discovered 
to her her heart full of sin and shame. It betrayed 
th^ slippery sands upon which her feet were treading. 
It revealed the gulf into which she had been about to 
plunge. Upon such a flood of light she could not 
close her eyes. She reflected that Paul had cried, 
Lord, what wouldst thou have me to do,^^ and he had 
been sent to Ananias^ the priest, ^^who would tell him 
what he was to do.^^ She did not stop to marvel why 
the Lord had not Himself told him what to do 
directly, but instinctively did what Paul did, obeyed 
instructions and sought the priest. 

It was now nearly noon. Althea had been sleepless, 
and had not tasted food since the preceding evening. 
She looked around for Mary, that she might accom- 
pany her to the prlest^s house, where she rightly sup- 
posed the Mlssioncr to have taken up his abode, She 
saw not Mary, who had gone home before the sermon. 


220 


hubeet’s wife. 


supposing that as licr mistress had had no breakfast, 
she must stand in need of dinner. Instead of Mary, 
Althea beheld Kitty Brett, one of Mary’s comrades, 
whom she had often seen at her house. 

Kitty Brett had one of the sunniest faces in the 
world ; and it smiled all over with willingness as 
Althea made her request. O yes, she would go right 
over with her, and, if she wished, would introduce her 
to Father Ryan, the parish priest, whom she would at 
first be likely to see. Moreover, her mistress had gone 
to the country with her children, so she had nothing 
to prevent her remaining during the little time Mrs. 
Rush might wish to prolong her visit. 

Father Ryan evinced no surpsise, however much he 
might have felt, on meeting this unaccustomed visitor. 
Althea was in a state for no preambles and no delays. 
She at once inquired if she could be permitted an 
interview with the Missioncr. 

The priest hesitated for a moment. Had she been 
a Catholic, he would have put her off until after the 
laborer of the morning had been refreshed. Reflecting, 
he withdrew, and very soon after, invited her into 
another room, where she found herself alone with the 
true priest of God. 

Oh ! Althea, thy mother, who gave thee to God at 
the first moment of thy existence, and at the last of 
hers, who had aspirations for the the truth which God 
may have regarded, must have wept tears of joy, and 
called upon the angels of Heaven to rejoice over her 
daughter that repented. 



CHAPTER XXVII. 

Althea’s trials. 

LTHEA’S conversion from error to truth, 
from premeditated crime, though she was 
criminal almost unconsciously, to firm 
amendment, was one of those miracles in 
which even Protestantism believes. Such Althea con- 
sidered it — a direct interposition of Providence. She 
recognized, with peculiar awe, the hand of Almighty 
Gi)d, and became as a little child, willing to be led 
W’liithersoever He would. 

It was natural she should turn to the bosom of that 
Church, before whose altar she had seen her own soul 
a^ in a mirror, and whose anointed priest seemed to 
have been chosen of God for her awakening and 
instruction, 

A few years earlier, she might have had prejudices 
to overcome; though slight, for one brought up an 
Episcopalian. That her uncle lived and died a good 
and true Catholic, and that her embittered aunt had 
embraced and become greatly attached to the true 
Church, had insensibly recommended it to her confi- 
dence. At first, she deemed herself unworthy to enter 
19 ^ 





222 


Hubert’s wife. 


the fold. She liad broken, in thought, one of its strin- 
gent laws. What she had come to regard as but a 
venial error, now appeared to her as an unpardonable 
sin. So unpardonable, indeed, that left to herself, she 
might have despaired of forgiveness, and returned to 
it cherishingly, seven times worse than before. But 
this aged Missioner, wise and experienced, knew well 
how to guide this untried soul. She was not the first, 
by hundreds and thousands, who had knelt to him for 
direction. He well understood the malady, and like 
a skillful physician, knew what remedies to apply. 

In a week, at the close of the Mission, Althea was 
ready for baptism. She had her catechism by heart, 
and was pretty well grounded in instruction. She had 
faith which would remove mountains, a confident hope 
in Jesus, and a willing heart and hand for Cliristian 
action. She stumbled not over Transubstantlation, 
nor Confession, nor any of the Seven Sacraments. She 
embraced them with a loving heart and a simple faith, 
not questioning but they were of God, since they were 
in His own Church. 

Whispers and winks were on the increase among 
Protestants. To secure an election according to his 
own ideas, Mr. Rush had placed his wife where she 
had made her own calling and election sure. This 
fact was slow in dawning upon him, but when it had 
fairly caught his vision, it shone with the effulgence of 
the sun. His friends had no pity for him. He had 
placed his wife in the fire ; what could he expect but 
that she would be burned? It did not alter the 
case that Mrs. Sharp had been also in the lire, but 


Hubert’s wife. 


223 


came out unconsumed. She was made of sterner stuff. 
Stubble would burn, but rocks were incombustible. 

Althea anticipated a storm ; but she braved it, and 
asked Thornton’s consent to her baptism. She might 
as well have asked the mountain to come down and be 
bathed in the sea. He was fierce as the whirlwind, 
unrelenting as death. His words of scorn and anger 
poured down like a water-spout, but unlike this ele- 
ment of destruction, his fury became not spent. 

He forbade her attendance at the closing exercises 
of the ]\Iisslon, or any further discourse with the 
Jesuit. Of this Jesuit, he had jocosely asserted he was 
going to take lessons in the art of intrigue. He deemed 
the lesson had been given without his seeking, and it 
was no less galling from his secret conviction that it 
was all his own fault. 

Had his wife asked his permission to join either of 
the other sects, he would have answered her with an 
indifferent laugh and sneer. That would have been of 
no consequence. She could have been a Methodist, or a 
Universalist, anything but a Catholic ! Like a Pagan 
Diocletian, he would have gathered all Catholics 
together, and thrown them to wild beasts. The com- 
ing election had lost for him its interest. It had cost 
iiim dear. Everything might go to Sharp and the 
dogs; one thing was certain — his wife should not 
become a Catholic. He remained steadily at Vine 
Cottage, a Cerberus to guard his domain. The Mis- 
sioncr would leave Windsor on the morrow. Althea 
wrote him a brief note, which she sent by Mary, ask- 
ing him what she should do. 


224 


HUBERT^S WIFE, 


Hi’s reply was this verbal message: ^^Walt — and 
trust in God ! Mary delivered this faithfully, and 
added : 

He said, ma’am, to tell you that he would never 
forget to pray for you at every Mass he should say.” 

God will hear his prayer,” was Althea’s thought, 
and she was comforted. 

The very spirit of evil seemed to have taken pos- 
session of Mr. Rush. He was more and more resolved 
to have entirely annihilated every trace of the new 
faith in his wife. For this purpose he sent far and 
near, until he had literally the proverbial house full 
of ministers.” His wife was under exhortation fiirst 
from one, then from another, every hour in the day. 

First the Presbyterian, then the Methodist, the Ba/p- 
tist, even the Spiritualist expounded and sermonised 
upon the several beauties of the Protestant faiih. 
Their principal ammunition, however, was expended 
in besieging, battering and anathematizing the Catho- 
lic Church. 

Every minister had a book for her to read, at home 
in his library, which he would bring her, the reading 
of which would prove convincingly conclusive. One 
had Fox, one Hogan, another Kirwan and Maria 
Monk, and still another the multitudinous tomes of 
Julia McNair Wright. As to Edith O’Gorman — no 
need to allude to this lately arisen bright particular 
star, in whose flood of light, the black sun of Catho- 
licism was going down. Mary Stuart was not more 
tortured by Elizabeth’s emissaries, than was Althea by 
these clever ministers. But the ill-fated Queen, nursed 


Hubert’s wife. 


225 


from childhood in the faith, was not more unwaver- 
ingly firm than was this six-days’ neophyte. 

With this array of ministers, however, was not her 
greatest trial. They might deem her stupid, obstinate, 
blind, and infatuated, but they were at least gentle- 
manly and polite. She could reply to them as she 
thought best, without danger of having her head 
taken oif. She was even glad of their presence as 
they went and came again, because, while they talked, 
her husband was for the most part silent. 

And when he demanded that one or other should 
receive her into his church, he was in turn offended at 
them, because they insisted that the lady’s consent was 
necessary. AVhen the subject was given over, and 
everyone had departed finally to his own house, then 
Althea’s true martyrdom commenced, 

^^You have become a believer in Purgatory, and 
your faith shall spring from actual knowledge ; for as 
long as you live I will make this house to you a pur- 
gatory,” declared the enraged husband, furiously. 
And he kept his word. But the good God, omnipo- 
tent on earth as in heaven, had said : Thus far shalt 
thou go, but no farther.” 

Althea would have remained quiet and resigned, 
never mentioning the subject of her faith, but this 
Thornton would not permit. He would talk of it 
incessantly. To Althea it finally became a fire-brand, 
which, constantly waving to and fro before her eyes, 
threatened to turn her brain to madness. 

She became dangerously ill. A severe fever had set 
in, to break up which baffled the physician’s skill, 


226 


hubekt’s wife. 


when too late he was called. Thornton had persisted 
in not believing her sick, and had taken his own time 
for calling in Dr. Hardy. 

Kitty Brett, finding a girl to take her own place, 
offered her services, which were accepted, as personal 
attendant upon Althea. As the unfortunate lady grew 
rapidly worse, Mrs. Moffat was engaged as head nurse. 

This Mrs. Moffat was by many regarded as the salt 
that saved AYindsor. AVindsor would have gone to 
destruction long ago, physically, but for the saving 
help of Mrs. Moffat’s hands. True, she was a mar- 
ried woman, and, like the martyr, was followed l)y 
nine small children, and one at the breast,” but tliis 
never prevented her lending a helping hand to a:vy 
and every applicant. She could be absent from hot le 
a week at a time. The children could stir up their 
flour and water, and bake their hard cakes. Tluiy 
could lie down at night wherever they chanced to give 
up and fall, and arise with the morning’s sun, ready 
dressed. Falling down cellar — it was a trap-door — 
other people’s children would have broken ther necks, 
but these little Moffats, after turning two or three 
somersaults, reached the bottom standing upright. 
They nursed themselves through mumps, measles, 
whooping cough, and all kindred diseases by playing 
in the creek ; so that Dr. Hardy had serious thoughts 
of recommending creek-playing ” as a specific in 
such cases. They were hearty, hardy little fellows, all 
boys but the eldest, and cared nothing more for their 
motlier’s brief visits, after they had had their scramble 
for the bon-bons with which she was in the habit of 
regaling them. 


Hubert’s wife. 


227 


Mrs. Moffat was, indeed, a most valuable attendant 
upon the sick. Unlike most people, she was in her 
element when in a sick-room. She could accommo- 
date herself to every situation and emergency. If 
things and people did not go to suit her she could go 
to suit them. There was no grating, no friction where 
Mrs. Moffat was ; her very presence was oily, so to 
say. She could lift people heavier than herself ; there 
appeared no limit to her poWers of endurance. She 
could watch night and day without the least detriment 
to her nerves. She could taste the most nauseous 
potions, and submit to most disgusting odors, nor 
make the least wry face about it. If she found a 
patient not very sick she would sit down and pour 
forth a gossipy stream of talk for an hour, when, ten 
to one, every ailment would be forgotten. There was 
a charm in her tone, word, and manner that affected 
like magic. Of course, this woman had a drunken 
husband — such women always have that affliction. 
There were those, even in Windsor, who said they did 
not blame Mr. Moffat for taking to drink — if their 
wi v^es were always from home, and the house forever 
to psy-turvey, and the children making pyramids of 
themselves like a pile of ants, they should take to 
drinking too. But nobody could wait on these very 
people when sick but Mrs. Moffat. 

Althea was sure of the best attention while Mrs. 
Moffat waited on her ; and this capable person scarcely 
left her bedside. Kitty Brett was her right hand, as 
she herself was Althea’s. Kitty was kept upon a 
steady march; here, there, and everywhere; and she 


228 


Hubert’s wife. 


was as willing as was her superior. She could not do 
enough for one who had been persecuted for the faith. 

The master of the house kept a steady watch over 
all. His argus-eye was ever on the alert lest, despite 
his vigilance, the Catholic priest should be smuggled 
into the house. 

Althea was constantly delirious, and it was feared 
she might die without having recovered her reason. 
The crisis approached, and Dr. Hardy watched her 
silently for many hours. He had done his utmost, 
and though he hoped faintly he feared the worst. 
Mrs. Moffat’s whispered loquacity was awed into 
silence. Kitty wept silently at the foot of the bed, 
praying fervently as she wept. Thornton had walked 
to and fro in his slippers, his long hands crossed upon 
each other behind his back, casting out occasionally 
fierce glances from his cavernous brows. He came 
and stood, like a thundercloud, by the Doctor's side. 

Any change ? ” he whispered. 

The doctor shook his head. 

What do you think, any chance ? ” 

The doctor looked at his watch, w^hich he had been 
holding in his hand, Yes, while she breathes there’s 
a chance, I suppose,” replied the doctor, without look- 
ing up, but changing uneasily his position. 

Well, I have an awful headache; I will lie down 
in the next room; If she is worse, you can call me,” 
and the cloud disappeared. 

Althea had been some time sleeping quietly, neither 
articulating nor moaning. Dr. Hardy watched her as 
only doctors watch their patients. It was more to him 


HUBERT S WIFE. 


229 


than a question of life and death — it was somewhat 
like the alchemist, trembling with hope and fear over 
his costly dissolvents. 

At length, Althea’s eyes opened, glanced hastily 
around and closed again. Dr. Hardy was not sur- 
prised. For the last half hour he had been expecting 
this, but he had given no sign. When her eyes again 
opened, he put some drops to her lips, which she read- 
ily swallowed. By-and-bye she gave a look of thor- 
ough consciousness, accompanied with an effort to 
speak. 

Again, in an hour, she looked earnestly at Dr. 
Hardy, and moved her lips. He bent low to listen, 
and only himself caught her words: ^^Send for the 
priest.” 

Dr. Hardy frowned. Was this old anxiety going 
yet to ruin all ? Couldn’t she die or live without the 
priest ? 

You are going to get well now,” he whispered in 
reply. 

Send for Father Ryan, for God’s sake,” she again 
repeated, so forcibly that Kitty caught the words. 

I will go for him,” she said eagerly, but the doctor 
interfered. 

‘^No, I will see Mr. Rush;” for the anger of that 
man and his future hostility was not a pleasing pro- 
spective to the easy-going doctor, ever ready to propi- 
tiate. 

Mr. Rush was like a lion, aroused from his sleep, in 
which he had found temporary oblivion of a torturing 
headache. 

20 


230 


Hubert’s wife. 


The doctor’s words were not audible in the sick 
room, but Kitty distinctly heard the reply of Thornton 
Rush : * 

tell you I don’t care. I don’t believe it will 
make the least difference. If she has a mind to worry, 
let her worry ; I won’t have a Catholic priest in the 
house. I’ll have the devil first. If she is going to 
live, she will live, anyhow. I have never thought 
she would die yet. For God’s sake, let me alone, 
and don’t waken me again, no matter what happens.” 

The doctor returned with lugubrious visage. But 
Kitty’s was radiant. 

She was seized with a thought or an inspiration, and 
she whispered : 

^^I will take all the blame upon myself; he cannot 
more than kill me. It is a good time — he lias left 
orders to be let alone. The priest can come and go 
before he knows it,” and she darted out without 
another word. 

The doctor and Mrs. Moffat looked smilingly across 
at each other in the faint lamp-light, but neither made 
a movement for Kitty’s detention. As the faithful 
girl had said, the priest came and went ” before the 
master knew anything about it. And Althea, having 
passed through her earthly purgatory, and now hover- 
ing, as she thought, upon the borders of death, had 
been baptized by water into newness of life, and been 
strengthened by that heavenly food, which is more and 
diviner than the bread of ansrels. 



CHAPTER XXVIII. 



MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE. 

LTHEA was very weak, but continued 
^slowly to recover. Several days elapsed, 
daring which time Thornton’s pain in the 
head had been upon the increase, and other 
alarming symptoms had been developed. These were 
intensely strengthened by the imprudence of a med- 
dlesome neighbor. 

Curtis Coe Avas Windsor’s merchant tailor. He may 
have been more than the ninth part of a man in some 
respects ; but when, under pretence of a friendly call, 
he informed Thornton Rush, already very sick, that the 
priest. Father Ryan, had baptized Althea — we say, 
when he did this intentionally and Avith malice afore- 
thought, and Avith a sinful love of tale-bearing, and 
Avith utter recklessness as to consequences, he proved 
himself infinitely less, even than ordinary tailors of 
the proverbial size. He deserved the punishment of 
being hissed by his own goose. 

The effect of this ill-advised news upon Thornton 
can be better imagined than described. AVhat increased 
it ten-fold was the man’s utter impotence to resent or 
punish AA'hat had been done* ' His ravings Avere/earful| 




232 


HUBERT S WIFE. 


his imprecations multiplied. Vain were the doctor’s 
warnings that his anger would aggravate his disease. 
He continued to rave until he became unconscious of 
the words he uttered. To all in the house it was a 
relief when this man passed Into unconscious delirium. 
One can listen to insane blasphemies with sorrow and 
pity; but only with horror and disgust to revilings, and 
railings sanely spoken. 

On that night which followed Curtis Coe’s wicked 
impertinence, two men sat up Avith the sick man. 
They must both have fallen asleep at one and the 
same time, for they discovered on coming to their 
senses, that Thornton Eush was nowhere to be found. 
The lamp Avas burning, even the fire in the stove had 
not died out. Having searched the room, they gave 
the alarm, and thoroughly searched the house, then all 
the outhouses, and finally the town. 

All classes, friend and foe, AVere aroused. A general 
panic prevailed. Each one considered himself in dan- 
ger, Avhile Thornton Eush, as a lunatic, was at large. 
Posters Avere sent abroad and telegrams announced the 
mysterious disappearance to neighboring villages and 
cities. The river Avas dragged, old cellars and wells 
Avere dived into. 

AVindsor had at length a mystery, and it was an 
appalling one. People began to canvass it in whisper. 
A suspicion began to be bruited around. We do not 
affirm that Mrs. Moffat originated this suspicion, but 
she Avhlspered it about from house to house. It was 
to this strange effect, the Catholics had formed a 
league and spirited aAvay this enemy of their faith. 


HUBERT^S WIFE. 


233 


Kitty Brett had boldly set liis words at defiance, and 
the priest had boldly entered the house he had been 
forbidden, and baptized and anointed, and practiced 
what other witcheries he had no business. 

If Kitty would do this much, and if Father Ryan 
would do that much, why, what was there they would 
not do ? 

This view of the case accounted for the wise solemnity 
prevailing among the Catholics generally. They were 
observed to purse up their mouths, and shake their 
heads ; and one old patriarch had been heard to say 
that the Evil One had got his own. Why should he 
say that, if he did not know something about it? 

It became another Morgan affair. Women began to 
turn off Catholic servant girls. There vras a strong 
talk of discharging every Irishman from the Mills 
and Railroad. A continual espionage upon the move- 
ments of the Catholics was kept up. Traps were laid 
for self-committal. Bribes were offered and promises 
of security to any who would turn State’s evidence. 
Threats were made here and there that leading Catho- 
lics should be arrested ; at all events, the ringleader 
should be made to suffer. All seemed to settle down 
upon that Father Ryan must necessarily have been 
the aider and abettor, if not the snggestor, in such a 
high-handed proceeding. It mattered not, that during 
his five years^ stay at Windsor, he had lived peaceably 
and orderly, and set a good example. All that served 
but a cloak to just such deeds as this kidnapping of a 
respectable citizen. 

This whirlwind of talk, however, amounted to 
20 ^ 


234 


Hubert’s wife. 


nothing more. The Catholic population was getting 
stronger every day; it was surprising how many new 
families kept pouring in. So it happened no one 
dared lay hands on Father Ryan. 

Autumn passed into winter, and winter merged into 
spring, still no trace had been discovered of the miss- 
ing man. 

Althea had entirely recovered the health and bloom 
of youth. She was never more beautiful than now, at 
the still early age of twenty -two. She had mourned 
for her husband only as for a soul that was lost. She 
believed he must have perished in some strange way, 
and her daily prayer was that the manner of his death 
might some time be brought to light. The good God 
had snatched herself from the verge of the grave. 
He had said unto her, through his servant, ^Gvait, and 
trust in God,” and God had delivered her out of her 
troubles. She lived alone at Vine Cottage, the faith- 
ful Kitty her servant and companion. 




CHAPTER XXIX. 



HUBERT'S SECOND VISIT. 

|X June, the month of roses, came Hubert 
Lisle to visit Althea. He came thus early 
in her j^resumed widowhood, to woo her for 
his wife. But she would not hear one word 
of love from his lips. She had studied her religion, 
and found that its laws forbade marriage with another 
until abundant proof had been obtained of the death 
of her husband. So far, she had but proof presump- 
tive. He had disappeared at such a time and in such 
a state as, to most minds, forbade even a possibility 
that he should have continued to exist. Again, the 
Catholic rule forbade the marriage of cousins. 

Hubert urged to this that they were not strictly 
cousins. His father and her mother were but half- 
brother and sister. 

Again, the Catholic Church did not forbid, but 
strongly discountenanced the marriage of a Catholic 
with a Protestant. She, Althea, loved her Church so 
well, she would not do that which the Church disap- 
proved. 

These were three great obstacles in the way then, to 
his marriage with Althea, Hubert found. He began 





236 


Hubert's wife. 


to think he had now a more formidable opponent in 
the Church than he had had in Thornton Rush. He 
had succeeded in winning from Althea a promise to 
sue for a divorce. The rest would be easy. But he 
found it impossible, with all his eloquence, to prevail 
upon her to take one step contrary even to the wish 
of this more tyrannical guardian. He even went to 
the priest. He had seen Father Ryan at Mass, for, 
of course, he accompanied his cousin. He judged 
from his open, honest face that it would be an easy 
matter to win him over to his views. He entered 
upon the subject confidently, but ended very muoh 
discomfited. Father Ryan would listen to but one 
point, which was that Althea was not at liberty to 
entertain thoughts of marriage until conclusive proof 
was obtained of her husband's death. Hubert revert- 
ing to the other points — All that comes afterward," 
was all the priest would say, 

^^But, supposing nothing more is ever heard of 
Thornton Rush, which is almost certain, is Althea to 
live a widow to the end of her days?" questioned 
Hubert incredulously. 

Yes," replied the priest. And allow me to inti- 
mate," he continued gently, ^^that, entertaining the 
dispositions you do, it is improper you should remain 
a guest at Vine Cottage. As a cousin you were priv- 
ileged, perhaps, according to your Protestant views, 
but as you are a suitor, it is quite different." 

Having politely listened to these words of the 
priest, he wisely made up his mind to take his leave, 
before he should hear them reiterated from the lips of 
Althea. 


HUBERT^S AVIFE. 


237 


Well, cousin, presenting himself before her, on 
returning from the priest’s, I have had the courage, 
or the impudence, to consult Father Ryan; he is as 
inexorable as yourself. It is astonishing with what 
an iron will this Catholic faith infuses people. Last 
fall you promised to marry me, although a thou- 
sand difficulties were to be overcome. Now, that 
you are your own mistress, according to every human 
probability, and you are at perfect liberty, free from any 
scruples about the right and wrong of the thing, and 
yet — and yet how strange ! You have scruples more 
binding a hundred fold. And Father Ryan, the gen- 
tlest, quietest person, whom you would not believe 
could say no, whom I made sure I could prevail upon 
to intercede for me, is just as resolute as Napoleon, as 
unyielding as Draco. What does it mean ? Is it in 
the religion or what ? ” 

^^I believe, Hubert, it is the love of God in the 
heart. We love God better than the world, or aught 
the world can offer. We love God so well, that we 
fear to break His holy law,” replied Althea. 

But others love God too, who are not Catholics, 
but they are not so inexorably bound.” 

They have not the restraints of the Church. 
They have not its laws to govern them, its teachings 
to instruct, its pastors to guide and direct. Moreover, 
they cannot expect heavenly graces in abundance who 
are out of the true Church. Christ’s promise of 
assistance is to His Church, Pis anathema against 
those who will not hear it.” 

It looks to me as though you had taken upon 


238 


IIUBERT^S AV^IFE. 


yourself a yoke, and the bonds of servitude/^ Hubert 
remarked diseonsolately. 

^^Tlie bonds of the dear Lord Jesus, yes/’ and 
Althea’s countenance glowed with enthusiasm. 

But Christian bonds should not press so heavily. 
Protestants in all these things do as they please, yet 
they profess to be bound with the same fetters.” 

Profess ! what use in professing when every day 
they burst them asunder as would they gossamer 
threads ? I assure you, Hubert, that is one of the 
beauties of the Catholic Church. Its laws are so 
binding, its teachings so direct, its discipline so per- 
fect, that one cannot stray away blindly. The obe- 
dient child who would bo pained not to do the 
Father’s will is kept in the straight and narrow way, 
the light is held steadily before his eyes ; if he stum- 
ble or turn aside he is brought back, and if he become 
restive and the ^ fetters,’ grateful to the loving child, 
bind too galling he throws them off, more willing to 
be lost than bear self-denial for the present. For 
myself, Hubert, I have started for heaven, confident 
of arriving if I follow the path marked cut for me. 
If I do not follow in that path I have no hope but of 
straying far from that desired haven, the happy land 
of souls.” 

Althea, I believe you have never loved me,” sud- 
denly exclaimed Hubert, steadily regarding his cousin. 

That is a cruel assertion, and it wounds me more 
than you can think,” returned the lady, deeply moved. 
^AYould I could forget that I ever loved you! The 
memory recalls my sin, my shame, and, thank God, 


Hubert’s wife. 


239 


my repentance. I deserve that you should recall all 
this to me, but I pray you, if you have regard for me, 
never to refer to this again.” 

Forgive, me, Althea, I did not intend thus to pain 
you. You are right and I am wrong. While regret- 
ting, I honor you the more for the noble stand you 
have taken. I go, Althea, and should I ever come 
again, you shall behold me worthier, God willing. I 
shall think of you as resting under the very shadow 
of heaven, and no ill, I am sure, will betide you. 
Farewell, and God will help you.” 




CHAPTER XXX. 


THE SEA SHALL GIVE UP ITS DEAD.^^ 



EHE summer at Windsor was an unprece- 
dently hot one. No rain in J uly, no rain 
in August, and September’s sun was shining 
fiercely down upon parched earth, dried up 
rivers, panting animals, and complaining men. There 
would be no wheat, no corn ; potatoes were dwarfed, 
and vegetables literally dried and hardened. Grass 
would be light, and cattle would be starved, if not first 
choked with thirst. The heavens were as brass, the 
fiery atmosphere like that of a furnace. Was there 
about to be a general conflagration, when the earth 
and the heavens should be rolled too-ether as a scroll ? ” 


The great Mississippi was never so low. Inquiring 
urchins made explorations up and down the dried 
banks with all the enthusiasm of explorers of the 
Nile. Even the women of Windsor proposed a bold 
feat. This was none other than in a body to ford the 
Mississippi. It would be something worth telling of, 
when, after some flood, the river should widen to the 
space of a mile. 

Accordingly, old calico wrappers were brought into 
requisition, and a small army of women stood upon 




HUBERT'S WIFE. 


241 


the shores. You might have thought from the voices 
of fear, hesitation, reproach, and encouragement, 
another Eed Sea was before them, and behind them a 
Pharaoh's host. All the women of Windsor were not 
engaged in this expedition. Some were milking cows, 
and some were putting dear little children to sleep; 
some were preparing late suppers for dilatory hus- 
bands, and not a few were gathered together in knots, 
discussing the impropriety and scandal of such a bold 
proceeding. 

Our heroine at Vine Cottage, entirely unaware of 
the movement, was enjoying the twilight in playing 
soft airs upon the piano. 

To one uninformed, a pow-wow of Indians might 
have been supposed to be going on. There were 
shrieks and wails, and screams of laughter, and cries 
/){ terror. There were threatenings, scoldings, and 
coaxings. Were all the grammars in the world made 
up of interjections they could scarcely have contained 
the list that rent the air, between the two Mississippi 
shores, upon that eventful night. The heavens were 
still above, though they might have been supposed to 
have disappeared entirely, so loudly and fervently were 
they invoked. 

Why, it is enough to raise the dead,^' exclaimed a 
solitary traveler, a stranger in town, perambulating a 
neighboring bluff. 

As the vociferating army neared the opposite shore, 
there was a momentary silence ; that breathless silence 
which precedes the storm. Then uprose such a terrific 
scream, such a commingled shout of horror, as only 
21 


242 


HUBERTS '^yiFE. 


frightened women can give vent to. This brought 
men, women and children in throngs to the scene. 
Some leaped into boats, some walked in to the rescue. 
The majority awaited ashore the unfolding of events. 

Mrs. Sharp had caught her foot in something as she 
was about to ascend the opposite bank. In attempting 
to save herself, she fell with her hands upon the soggy 
substance that had intercepted her. She was a thor- 
ough-going woman, and determined to ascertain what 
lay like a log in her path, the water scarcely covering 
it. She prevailed upon two or three to assist her in 
dragging it upward partially to the dim light — when 
lo! within a saturated, slimy bed-comforter was a 
human form ! It was brought across to Windsor, offi- 
cials summoned, and, despite decomposition and fearful 
change, recognized to be the remains of Thornton 
Rush ! There was great sensation, and a faint revival 
of whispers about his having l)een spirited away to 
his death by Popish emissaries ; but these soon died, 
for want of breath, as the Irishman would say. 

The death of Mr. Rush was, by the majority, 
accounted for naturally. In liis delirium he had 
strayed he knew not whither. He had grasped the 
heavy quilt tightly around him, which, held firmer in 
the clasp of the dead, had filled with water, and pre- 
vented the body from rising. 

It seemed unaccountable that when the river was 
dragged it should not have been discovered : are not 
mysteries, however, every day transpiring before our 
eyes, about which we marvel in vain ? 



CHAPTER XXXI. 

CONCLUSION. 

O-HAY, Althea is the happy wife of Hubert 
Lisle and the honored mistress of Kennons, 
which is bright and beautiful again with 
sweet Avoman^s presence. 

Two obstacles to the union of Hubert and Althea had 
disappeared. She had been proved to be matrimonially 
free, and he had become, from study and conviction, a full 
believer in her faith, of Avhich he made open profes- 
sion. The fact that they Averc cousins still remained. 
As there Avere considerable delays in the consummation 
of the marriage, it Avas doubtless OAving to the smooth- 
ing aAvay of this difficulty. And as both parties hold 
the Holy Father in most grateful and loving remem- 
brance, and their most cherished design is to make him 
a visit at his prison in the Vatican, it is probable that 
a dispensation from Rome severed the last link of 
obstruction, and permitted Father Ryan, Avillingly at 
last, to tie the Gordion Knot. 

Arriving at Kennons, Althea, of course, paid her 
respects to Mrs. Lisle at Thornton Hall. She found 
her in a deplorable situation, A seated cancer* upon 






244 


HUBERT'S WIFE. 


tlie face was eating away her life, as it had already 
destroyed every vestige of her former beauty. 

She had great difficulty in prevailing upon servants 
to attend her. She was so irritable and so offensive 
that even money could not purchase aid. 

And what did Althea ? Sacrificed every ill-feeling, 
overcame repulsion, put up with taunts and cross 
words, and waited on Thornton Rush's mother as if 
she had been her own. And this in the happy begin- 
ning of her wedded life with Hubert Lisle. And 
what reward had she? None in this life, save the 
consciousness of having struggled to overcome nature, 
to render good for evil, and to perform that loving 
charity which our Saviour commended in the Samari- 
tan, and ever inculcates In His Church. 

Notwithstanding Althea's patient, persistent efforts, 
Rusha Lisle, having hardened her heart, died in her sins. 

To Althea, who stood above her dying bed, she 
whispered hoarsely : 

You have done all this for the sake of my property, 
I understood all. You will find out I wasn't fooled up 
to the last. You couldn't cheat me with your quiet, 
gentle Ways ; ha ! ha I and the wretched woman went 
out in the night of death, comprehending not the sweet, 
Christian life of such as Althea, but believing all natures 
dark and cruel as her own. It was from her own she 
drew her judgment of another. 

She had bequeathed all her property to an idle 
cousin, whom it will but accelerate in his downward 
course of idleness and dissipation. 

Arrangements had all been made for a visit to 
Europe^ and particularly to Rome, as soon as possible 


HUBERT^S WIFE. 


245 


after Mrs. Lisle’s death. Here, again, was a disap- 
pointment. 

Letters were received from Turkey, from the hand 
of Althea’s father. He had lost his second wife, Emily 
Dean. He was about to sail for America, and should 
bring his two youngest children, little girls, aged 
respectively six and eight, whom he hoped Althea 
would make room for in her new home. He was una- 
ble to embark as soon as was intended, and arrived six 
weeks later than was designed. 

Philip St. Leger, then, arrived once more at Ken- 
nons. His hair was silvery white. He was firm, erect, 
and still very fine looking. It was a sad place, how- 
ever, for the Missionary, who began to feel the world 
to be receding from his grasp. 

He talked with Hubert, somewhat at length, upon 
the subject of his religion. To Althea he made no 
allusion concerning it. He, doubtless, judged her to 
have become as infatuated, and wedded to her idols ” 
as he had found to be his sister, Juliet. He could not 
help from perceiving, blind as he was, that there was a 
very great change for the better in this same sister, 
whose folly and levity he well remembered. 

He soon returned to Turkey, accompanied by a third 
wife. This time, Mrs. St. Leger was not a pupil from 
the famous seminary. Philip had acquired wisdom, 
perhaps, with time, and was glad to take a maiden 
lady of forty acknowledged years, who was a most 
amiable, warm-hearted woman by the name of Snow, 
Lucy being her first name. Success to Philip and his 
bride as they sail across the seas, nearing that grand 
21 * 


246 


hubeet’s wife. 


sea that rolls around all the world ! Their own disap- 
pointments have met Hubert and Althea. But these 
have no power to disturb their patience and serenity. 
They have established schools for the whites and the 
blacks on their estate, and are teaching the doctrines 
and practices of the new Faith. 

The cars run through Flat Bock. This point has 
become quite a town, and a small Catholic church 
tells by its cross and altar that the true faith hath found 
its way thither. To this church come Hubert and 
Althea, Sundays and holidays. Maria and Frances, 
Althea’s young sisters, come with them; for it was 
only upon this condition that Hubert would receive 
them. That Philip St. Leger should have consented 
to this, proves that a change has come over him since 
a score of years. Kitty Brett is Althea’s faithful 
attendant. She chose to leave all her friends, rather 
than be separated from the ^voman whose life she had 
helped to save. 

Amy and Chloe, old cronies, as they term them- 
selves, look bright and young again, along with Ken- 
non’s rejuvenation. They hold long discourses over 
their pipes and snuif about the j)ast and present, their 
deepest regret being that Master Duncan could not 
^have lived to see this realization of his dearest wishes. 

Every Sunday they go and sprinkle his grave and 
that of Ellice with holy water. They kneel by the 
cross which Hubert and Althea have planted, and, 
folding piously their homely hands, thank God for the 
return of the one, the gift of the other, and for the 
Cross, and the Light, and the Crown they have brought 
with them to dear old Kennons. 



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